


Singularity

by leftfoottrapped (miikkaa_xx)



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Star Wars Setting, Emotional Manipulation, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-10
Updated: 2016-04-10
Packaged: 2018-06-01 09:03:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6512029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miikkaa_xx/pseuds/leftfoottrapped
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Star Wars!AU. As a Sith, Chen will make sure Tao is his apprentice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Singularity

**Author's Note:**

> **warnings:** language, violence, emotional manipulation, unhealthy relationships, explicit sex, including: breathplay, d/s undertones. unbeta'd - all errors are mine.
> 
> inspired by [[x](http://fy-exo.com/post/133642524967)] [[x](http://fy-exo.com/post/133663986242)] [[x](http://fyeahkoreanphotoshoots.tumblr.com/post/140474308940/)]; big thanks to [jesse](airboatnecromancer.tumblr.com) for cheering me on till the end~

-

Jongdae is empty ambition without Zitao.

He tries not to be sentimental about these things - especially not when he feels like he’s seen it all. If pressed, Jongdae is sure that he could fit the entire galaxy that he actually cares for between the spaces of his fingers. From thumb to index is his home planet as boring as it is, between index and middle is his now long gone Sith lord, the middle and ring’s gap is filled with the sugar-sweet memories of his mother, and the last space, wavering between ring and pinkie, is his apprentice.

Whether Zitao knows he is Jongdae’s apprentice is a different matter entirely. There might be glimmers of knowledge that flash through Zitao’s gaze when he sweeps into Jongdae’s room on the ship - morning, noon, night, it never mattered _when_ to Zitao - or perhaps whenever Jongdae felt irritated enough to throw his power around and Zitao would watch with a smug expression on his face.

Jongdae is never specific about Zitao’s role in this ever-growing ship crew that Zitao seems to amass wherever they go. He only says, ‘you’re in charge’, and watches from the back as Zitao gives orders like he’s meant for it - spine straight and voice clear, eyes glittering in satisfaction as everything comes into place.

There is a new era brimming on the horizon; when Jongdae closes his eyes, the Force shimmers around him, whispers wordlessly of a change, a movement, a revolution. Soon, the history of the galaxy will be defined as Before Zitao and After Zitao.

That is the difference between them. Zitao belongs in the forefront, basking within the spotlight, holding the obvious reins of power and command in his black gloved hands as he looks out the window into the glittering abyss of the galaxy. Jongdae - a dark-clothed figure in the background that lingers, smiles, laughs, keeps cool when Zitao erupts in a pitched shout of annoyance, and doles out discipline in controlled doses when Zitao asks him of it.

Jongdae traces the handle of his lightsabre on his hip with a gloved finger as he finds himself in the main cockpit, watching Zitao map out a star system barely explored to some new blood they’ve taken on board. Even if Zitao didn’t know he would one day inherit Jongdae’s power as his apprentice, there is something to be said about how Sith-like he is already - greedily plucking at the galaxy until it’s all his.

-

‘Do you remember when we first met, Chenchen?’ asks Zitao, draped along Jongdae’s bed, his jacket undone with nothing underneath. Just a country of skin that seems darker, more golden, in the dim lighting.

Jongdae closes the door of his room behind him, flicks his fingers so the lock will click shut - all these new recruits thought they could stroll into any part of the ship these days.

‘Hello to you too, Tao,’ he says eventually, slowly peeling off one glove. Zitao’s eyes are bright in the gloom, flicks to the exposed skin almost immediately. ‘You told me you wanted to change the universe. Ambitious brat.’

‘Every day, we’re closer. So much closer,’ he says in a rush, words tumbling, crashing onto each other. ‘This new star system - one of the rookie recruits is guiding me through it, it’s basically unmapped - so I thought we could settle down here, a permanent base to train them all!’

‘Train them in what?’ he asks as he slowly undresses.

‘Combat, of course,’ says Zitao, rolling his eyes. ‘And - I - I wanted to ask you - ’

He hesitates, which is strange, unseeming from Zitao. Jongdae raises his eyebrows in question as he hangs up his cloak, toes off his boots.

‘What you do…’ he says eventually, voice hushed. ‘Chen’s… power. Will you teach it?’

‘Teach who?’ humours Jongdae.

Clearly Zitao hadn’t thought this far; his brows furrow as he considers all the dozens of people he’s put on Jongdae’s ship from their various pit stops on planets. ‘Who will you teach?’

Jongdae hums. ‘There’s only one person I would consider.’

Zitao’s eyes are curious, anticipatory. ‘Who?’

‘Your new favourite,’ he says. ‘That boy Sehun.’

-

In the timeframe of Jongdae’s life, perhaps it would be best to begin at the beginning: he is trained in Jedi arts, he is very good, he passes the tests to become a Jedi master, and he leaves.

He leaves and runs into a Sith lord. After that is history.

That’s what Jongdae likes to end anyway. Yet nothing is ever that simple - he takes his power, becomes a Sith lord in his own right, and floats aimlessly through the galaxy looking for something, just… _something._

Before Zitao: Jongdae never kept track of the ever-shifting politics and policing and procedures of the galaxy and its various expectations and tenets to uphold when being a civil citizen in this jurisdiction or that. Truly, Jongdae mostly got what he wanted with a little nudge of the Force here and there, and if pressed - a red lightsabre usually did the trick.

After Zitao: there is something to be gained, after all. Power - power is Jongdae’s personal high. It’s his overwhelming need for _control_ over himself, over the factors around him, using the Force or simply _force_ \- and the need lingers around him with no real outlet. But Zitao - Zitao and his eager, ambitious mind - is exactly what Jongdae needs.

Zitao wants to change the galaxy in a blaze - to shape the universe unto his ideals, to create something lasting in his own name.

And Jongdae - what does Jongdae want?

What, indeed.

-

Jealousy is a novel emotion in Zitao. Jongdae can see it twist in Zitao’s belly, creep upwards to prick at his expressions, confound him when he sees his favourite recruit be the centre of Jongdae’s attention and not _him_.

At first, Zitao doesn’t even notice it himself. He is busy instead - delegating this task and that once they land upon a planet. Jongdae doesn’t remember the name Sehun gives it, but it’s a hardy planet - more mountains and peaks and canyons than anything else. It makes for carving a base within the stone easy at least.

Then it comes to his attention - ‘where do you go?’ murmurs Zitao when he stands in the gloom of Jongdae’s room in the middle of the night, hovering above where Jongdae lies on his back. ‘You leave in the morning and come back in the night. Sehunnie too.’

‘To train,’ replies Jongdae, reaching out above, fingers too far away to touch Zitao’s face.

Zitao goes to his knees, hands settling lightly over the edge of the cot, so that Jongdae can cup his cheek, drag his thumb along the arch. Warm, soft. The Force shifts just under Jongdae’s palm, pushes at his skin, tries to push him away. His hand retreats.

‘Where?’ asks Zitao, ‘tell me.’

Jongdae flicks his fingers in a silent gesture for Zitao to come closer to whisper it in his ear, and Zitao does, eyes half-lidded, mouth parted in curiousity, so easy, as easy as that.

After that Zitao leaves his self-appointed duties behind. The recruits, they’re happy for a home, especially a home that is to be owned for themselves. That is Zitao’s genius - take not the ones with the hope of home already, but those that yearn for it, that reach out for a place to go home towards.

And how they all follow him, adore him, raise him up as a boy-god above them all.

A boy-god that abandons his station to follow Sehun to a crest of bluffs where Jongdae stands, the wind whipping around him, making the hems of his robe snap hard. That’s what Zitao must see: a dark, imposing silhouette cut against the stone, that with one sharp gesture can have Sehun kneeling.

Sehun has potential - the Force blankets him as it blankets Zitao too, shimmers and recoils when Jongdae brushes up against it. Yet the awareness Sehun exhibits is lacking. He’s young, but not so young that he shouldn’t be able to harness his own instinctual knowledge. Not the way Zitao does - already, so sweet and influential that he is, the Force turning people his way as naturally as Zitao breathes.

If anyone is the true apprentice, Jongdae knows it will be Zitao, and Sehun is a toy he keeps around for his own amusement, for Zitao too because he knows Zitao favours him.

And so this is how Zitao learns - competitiveness and jealousy threading under his skin as he watches Jongdae teach Sehun. For once, Sehun has something that Zitao cannot touch, and it must claw at the pride that keeps his spine straight, his voice clear in its orders and expectations.

Jongdae revels in it - the push-pull of Zitao’s Force, how it trembles for peace, for silence, before flaring hot and unexpected when Jongdae smiles at Sehun, pets his hair, says, ‘good job today’.

Days go by. Jongdae teaches. Sehun learns. Zitao watches.

When Sehun masters the five forms, he kneels and looks upwards, awaiting another critique of his posture, his positioning. This day, Jongdae captures Sehun’s cheeks between his palms and kisses his forehead in pride.

The reaction is instantaneous. Sehun goes wide-eyed in surprise as Jongdae flails back, caught completely off-guard. The Force tightens around his throat, a vice grip to cut off his air, and Jongdae has to restrain himself from clawing at his neck in panic.

Once the initial surprise wears off, it’s simple to dispel it with his own control, and his eyes flick around himself for the source.

There the silhouette of Zitao stands - a tall, imposing figure outlined by the setting sun itself.

-

‘I worried,’ says Jongdae that night. He sits on his cot, pulling his gloves off and tracing his throat slowly with his fingers. ‘I worried you would never know.’

‘That I have it too?’ asks Zitao, hands hovering uncertainly around his thighs - self-conscious in his outburst from earlier. ‘Why didn’t you just tell me, Chenchen?’

‘There’s more to it than knowing.’ He reaches out, the tips of his fingers grazing along the curve of Zitao’s wrist, feeling that familiar push against him. ‘There’s also choosing.’

‘Choosing what?’

‘A side,’ says Jongdae, hoping the crypticness hides his uncertainty. There is the Force in Zitao, but _oh_ , how it rebels and recoils, knowing what resides inside of Jongdae, hidden behind a placid smile and dark, flat eyes. ‘But first - we have to work on you knowing.’

-

Sehun is not particularly surprised at the addition to Zitao. Training multiple apprentices is not unheard of, after all. It inspires a sort of friendly competitiveness that has Sehun progressing faster than when he was alone and failing all of Jongdae’s tasks day after day.

It is not as if Jongdae does not _like_ Sehun, simply that Sehun has lost his shine now that Jongdae has lured in Zitao.

He knows Sehun can sense the favouritism from the get-go, but Jongdae is careful with that. He dispenses affection at scheduled moments, to make sure Sehun does not slip out from the net of control that Jongdae has carefully wrapped him up within.

There are no more jealous little outbursts from Zitao. Instead, Jongdae must tolerate how Zitao goes soft and childlike in his adoration for Sehun. Clearly there is something within Sehun that is worth noting, but Jongdae has no particular patience for it. Anyway, he would never want to get in between Zitao and his favourite, so he’ll keep his distance from the boy.

Instead, time passes, and this small empire - that Zitao concocts like a zealous child - grows. Attuned now to how he attracts others, keeps them doing whatever he wishes, and Zitao becomes a much-beloved dictator among all the people that live within the ever-growing stone-carved town that is being created amongst the cliffs of this planet.

Water streams down from the mountain peaks, and wild game dart around the noise of the recruits, the ships, the work and construction and life, but agriculture is almost impossible with the terrain.

So Zitao decides to bring it to them - ‘can I not do that? Convince people to hand me their wares like I convince people to come with us?’

He’s curled around Sehun, chin digging into the other’s shoulder as they both look up from the cot they sit on to Jongdae standing across. They’re situated within the temple - at least what seems to be a temple, with its crude carvings of various holy symbols along the threshold of entrances and windows. The temple goes deep within the mountain side, with rooms for Zitao’s favourite people.

Jongdae paces around Sehun’s room, noting that it is smaller than Jongdae’s own, and wonders idly if Zitao had chosen it for them with that in mind. It didn’t matter - only one person ever crossed the unsaid boundaries that surrounded Jongdae - so Sehun would forever be ignorant of such differences.

‘It’s _my_ ship,’ replies Jongdae. ‘You won’t take it without me on board.’

‘But someone has to stay - stay _here_ \- and watch over everything.’

Jongdae nods towards Sehun, and Sehun’s shoulders curls into himself. Zitao’s eyes flash with irritation at Jongdae before making soft noises towards Sehun, lovingly intimate with the way his mouth brushes along the shell of Sehun’s ear.

‘He can watch me, and _Chenchen_ can stay,’ offers Zitao, smiling, corners of his mouth smug with the knowledge that he’s already won.

‘Go alone,’ shoots back Jongdae.

‘I won’t leave Hun-ah with _you_ ,’ he says.

‘Why not?’ asks Sehun, regaining confidence from his ignored presence. ‘I’m behind training anyway. I’ll catch up while you’re gone.’

Zitao flicks his eyes from Sehun to Jongdae, clearly assessing. He stands up with a flourish to show his annoyance, heading to the door with a sharp, ‘I’ll decide in the morning.’

-

Jongdae does not turn off the dim lighting in his room. Just as predicted, Zitao barges past his door half an hour later, clearly still irritated, as he scowls at Jongdae sitting patiently on his cot.

‘You can’t _have_ him,’ he says, looking everywhere but at Jongdae.

It’s easy to push Zitao when he is like this. ‘Be specific - have him _how_?’

‘You _know_ how.’ Hands on his hips, Zitao walks to the window of Jongdae’s room - wide, clear view of the town being built below. ‘Not like _me_.’

‘And _how_ do I have you, Tao?’ Even with his back to Jongdae, Jongdae can easily feel the fluctuations of the Force around Zitao, going intense with each wave of distress that sweeps over him. Jongdae takes pity. ‘He won’t take your place.’

Zitao nods, more to himself, and turns around. ‘You can’t take my place either.’

‘Your place with Sehun?’ Jongdae snorts. ‘Don’t worry.’

‘Should I go?’ This voice is quieter, softer. ‘I’ve never gone into space alone.’

There are dozens of reasons on Jongdae’s tongue, begging disguised as advice for Zitao to bring Jongdae along, not to travel without a master when he was still a novice, how Zitao was young and easy and too loving for his own good, and Jongdae must swallow them all down before managing a choked out, ‘choose for yourself, Zitao.’

Zitao nods, sweeps out the room, and Jongdae feels like he could suffocate.

-

The ship flies off with a handful of some recruits. Sehun stays behind and Jongdae deals with it.

-

As the sun melts on the horizon of some other day, Sehun asks, ‘are you… a Jedi?’

Jongdae shrugs. ‘I can use the Force. So can you. Are we Jedi?’

Sehun pauses, then shakes his head. ‘What do we call ourselves then?’

‘What do _you_ call yourself,’ corrects Jongdae, bored already, knowing how Sehun dreams of leaving his mark on the world, but having none of the easy grace that Zitao had to achieve such a thing. ‘I know who I am.’

‘Isn’t Chen a fake name?’ snorts Sehun.

‘As fake as this,’ says Jongdae, flicking his fingers so that the Force knocks Sehun flat onto his back, winding him. ‘To become a Jedi master, you must be trained by a Jedi and then pass the trials.’

Sehun coughs, props himself up on his hands as he glares up at Jongdae. ‘Can’t you train me, and I pass the trials on my own with the Jedi watching?’

‘Sure,’ humours Jongdae. ‘You’re going to have to find a Jedi first though.’

-

Zitao returns with trade routes established and a shipload of wares to distribute. He also brings a bunch more people to add to his ever-growing colony.

Jongdae is impressed by how efficiently Zitao organizes and runs it all - racks his brain over and over so that everyone shall be satisfied. He adores the power, adores the results even more, to have affection and attention placed upon him as he works, rewarded in loyalty, validation. Zitao plays god on this planet meticulously, and Jongdae can’t help but wonder if this is Zitao’s version of practice for how he will be with the entire universe underneath him.

More time trickles by in a steady stream - until this colony smoothes out, begins to operate independently, without Zitao nitpicking each decision - and Zitao returns happily to be trained, hanging off Sehun’s shoulder or arm or waist with endless affection, listening to all he has learned while Zitao was busy.

Sehun drinks it in, and perhaps it is only expected that Jongdae eventually finds them tangled together in bed together, sleepy and pleased.

There is an ending for everything.

Jongdae’s search for an aim ends with an apprentice.

Zitao’s ambition to power ends with a colony.

Sehun’s desperate desire for affection ends with a boy.

The Force lies still for the moment, curled around them all, and Jongdae savours the silence before the ending that will come for all of them.

-

(The flight logs have not been erased. Jongdae looks through them to see what sort of allies Zitao has made while gone, can’t help but approve of the way he skirts around systems that Jongdae has told him is where the Jedi patrol. Even on his own, Zitao is careful, intelligent, and succeeds far better than Jongdae could have imagined himself.

Now, Jongdae has to complete what Zitao has started. He takes the ship himself, visits all the places Zitao has avoided, parades himself as a rich merchant looking for wares if only to find all that he can about what he has left neglected for so long.

He finds Yixing first.

‘Ah,’ says Yixing sleepily, dozing in the shade of a half deconstructed ship, tools piled in his lap. ‘Is it time to recruit me?’

‘I finally have a plan,’ replies Jongdae, reaching out with a hand. Yixing takes it.)

-

There are only two ways a Sith falls.

The first: from pride. High off power, and soon the paranoia sets in. Who wants it? Who will take it? Where will one be left once the thing that defines them has been lost? This is why death is the only option between master and apprentice. There can be no peaceful co-existence when the Force is ruled by pride, by the fanatical belief in strength, the undercurrent terror should it disappear.

Jongdae has pride, but likes to judge himself reasonable with it. He knows he is strong, knows he could destroy this entire civilization that Zitao has concocted, knows that no one around him could stop him. This knowledge he tempers by remembering the Jedi masters who surrounded him while he trained - he is not the strongest, and perhaps he will never be, but he has no intention of fighting them. As long as he controlled his own space, it was enough.

The second, of course, is love.

It’s how his own Sith master goes. Vanishes. Does not take the Force with him, instead leaving it all in Jongdae’s hands with a nod and a smile -

(and sneering, and mocking, and possession written over Jongdae’s skin with bite marks and the nail scratches, words murmured into his ear that he’ll never know anything better than this - _this_ \- a fight and fuck in one with the Force pulling at his senses, _isn’t this what you wanted, Jongdae-ah_ )

\- and a wave; a simple goodbye.

Jongdae continues to train Sehun and Zitao as he sees this planet become known and inhabited and lived. Time - it passes. Perhaps a year, perhaps more. The markers of days and months don’t matter to him - seconds and minutes and hours are defined by the way Zitao speaks and laughs and trains. His improvements, his mastery, his presence - this is what Jongdae remembers, will recall with delight.

How Zitao stands straight-backed and proud against the setting sun of this planet, his eyes dark with satisfaction as he feels the Force all around him, shifting in his favour, turning everyone’s gaze onto him -

-  and how Zitao can dismiss it all away when he turns to Sehun, laughter and open arms and kisses.

There are only two ways a Sith falls, and Jongdae can taste which one will be his, sharply bitter at the back of his mouth.

-

(He’s the easiest to find but hardest to access. Luckily, Jongdae is more than convincing when he needs to be, and soon finds himself escorted by a guard into the prison.

Behind bars, Yifan doesn’t look any different than out. Still tall and lanky, face looking like he’s eaten something disgusting and refuses to spit or swallow. There’s a scar through his eyebrow, and Jongdae wonders if he got that in one of his smuggling trips or if he did it to himself to improve his look.

Either way: ‘why haven’t you left this place yet, ge?’

Yifan shows his surprise by blinking a couple times then shrugs. ‘Merchandise exploded before I could deliver it, so I thought I’d take a break in here.’

‘Good job, space’s best pilot,’ says Jongdae flatly.

‘ _Galaxy_ ’s best pilot,’ Yifan corrects, leaning forward, peering down at Jongdae through the bars of the holding cell. ‘But is there something better I could be doing right now?’

‘Much,’ he replies, placing a hand over one of the bars. ‘A loud breakout or a quiet one?’

‘Loud is more fun,’ says Yifan. ‘Let’s go.’)

-

Sehun has always been a plaything for Jongdae, but over time, he has improved enough to warrant a soft spot. It is not Sehun’s presence around Zitao that bothers Jongdae - he is not as petty as that. Though Zitao and Sehun share a bed at night, it is still only Zitao that has ever crossed the unwritten boundaries that surround Jongdae.

Those that live on the colony - they greet him and joke with him, eat and laugh with him, are perfectly civil and welcoming to the figure that seems to lurk behind their beloved boy-god Zitao. Still - they take care not to touch, unless drunk, and they do not deny any of his requests, even if there’s a beat of hesitation before their ‘yes, of course, Chen’.

While he’s sure that Zitao encourages Sehun to be more social with Jongdae, to press at those invisible barriers that Sehun can now sense with his grasp on the Force, Sehun only goes after Jongdae verbally, tries to rebel against everyone else’s politeness with sharp comments and sneers that still waver with unsteadiness. Even with the Force, Sehun needs to find his self-confidence yet.

Never does Sehun walk into his room and demand - that is a right that is only reserved for Zitao, a right that everyone knows.

The only threatening thing about Sehun is his sheer _goodness_.

Jongdae blames himself - he should’ve broken Sehun in the beginning, while Zitao was gone. Should’ve cracked Sehun open and molded him to what Jongdae wanted. Instead, it seems too late - because now Sehun does not need approval from Jongdae when he has Zitao, when he can press himself into Zitao’s skin with devotion that is pure goodness, is light side, is _Jedi_.

Zitao can have Sehun, can love Sehun, can fuck Sehun, but he cannot _choose_ Sehun, and Jongdae will make sure.

-

(The second last stop is a moon occupied with Jedi. It’s a popular spot to stop at for the diplomats and ambassadors and attachés on their way to the main governing planets that are only one lightspeed jump away.

There’s something nostalgic in waiting in the lounge of a piano bar, listening to the singer belt out a range that made the place and person so popular. It would be harder to extract this one out of the career that had been created in the intermittent years.

Still - adventure was in Luhan’s blood, and once he got off the stage, he seemed happy to make a beeline towards Jongdae. ‘I’ve got shit to do here,’ he starts, ‘but what do you got?’

‘An apprentice in the making, and a bigger plan than just getting shot at like last time,’ says Jongdae, infected by the enthusiasm. He reaches over and tugs at Luhan’s dyed bangs, snorting. ‘What do _you_ got?’

‘Free drinks and people asking for my autograph,’ says Luhan easily. ‘Some of them offer to sugar me around.’

‘And you poison those ones, right?’

‘Haven’t touched my supplies in months,’ says Luhan, mock-offended. His eyes are bright. ‘But I still have it all.’

Jongdae laughs. ‘Time to get it then.’)

-

‘I’ve never been in here,’ confesses Sehun, voice hushed, as he walks into Jongdae’s room, eyes on the wide window and thrown-open curtains, the cot in the corner with its two blankets, a table, a stool, shelves for the folded clothes and different shoes, pictures and maps and diagrams upon the walls - sparse in its lack of personality but still lived in.

‘Not what you expected?’ asks Jongdae, striding to the table to lay down the handle of his lightsabre. ‘Sit here.’

Sehun obeys, balancing himself on the stool as he hesitates to touch the metal.

‘Go ahead.’

The handle seems small in Sehun’s longer fingers, engulfed by his two-handed grip, thumb hesitating on pressing the button to let the sabre out.

‘Are you scared of it?’ asks Jongdae, almost laughing. ‘Just release it.’

Sucking in a deep breath, Sehun aims the handle at the roof and presses the button, jerking back when the red sabre appears almost instantly before him. ‘Holy shit…’

‘Every user of the Force has a lightsabre,’ says Jongdae, watching Sehun twist his wrists this way and that, feeling the counterbalance of the sabre with the handle in his palms. ‘You will make your own.’

‘What - ’ Sehun gapes at him, almost fumbling the lightsabre. ‘Don’t I - like have to pass a test? Or something? Shit - a _lightsabre_?’

‘You heard me,’ says Jongdae, stepping away and picking up a box from one of his shelves. Sehun has sheathed the sabre now, placing the handle softly onto the table, when Jongdae places the box beside it. ‘Inside are parts to make one. The box stays here, but you can come in and out of this room as you build, even if I’m not here.’

‘I have… permission to be in your room?’ asks Sehun slowly, staring at him. ‘What about Zitao?’

‘What about Tao?’

‘He - He can come here too, right?’

Jongdae smiles. ‘Tao has always been welcomed in my room, but only you will build your lightsabre. You were my student first, weren’t you?’

Sehun cannot argue, only nods silently, before opening the box, fingers sliding along the metal bits. Jongdae takes back the handle and tucks it on his belt, then, for good measure, cups Sehun’s cheek, tips his head up, and kisses him soft and sweet. ‘I’m proud of you, Sehunnie,’ he whispers before leaving.

Out in the hall, he feels Sehun’s aura spike up in adoration, in pride.

-

(This trip is hard on the engines - so far so fast. Jongdae had made sure the maintenance was up to snuff before taking off, but dangerous rattles echo throughout the ship, making his crew sweat in nervousness as they hold on.

Once the high speed turbulence wanes, Jongdae can unclench his jaw, the Force settling around him once the others on the ship relax as well. Outside, a moon slowly begins to eclipse its planet, letting the close-by star sunlight  reflect off the grandiose city that’s been built over the surface.

Using Yixing’s name, it’s easy to find a landing spot for their ship, easy for Jongdae to traverse under the warmth of light to his destination. It would somehow make sense for this journey to be the longest and most dangerous, because the prize would be worth it more than anything Jongdae can imagine.

Jongdae steps into the shop made of neat, crisp lines of steel and glass that reflects the sunlight into bursts of colour along the tables and chairs and walls. It’s a fragile seeming structure - like one rock thrown at the front pane would bring down the entire structure, cover the food and patrons into rebar and cuts.

Yet, as usual, Jongdae can feel his Force sensitivity dull out once he’s inside, watching the patrons until some of them react, seemingly confused at the sudden weight in the air. The waiter too straightens after placing a drink onto the table, turning to look at Jongdae.

‘Do you not serve Jedi here?’ Jongdae jokes sweetly as Minseok approaches him.

‘We just don’t like being told what to do,’ he says, and nods. ‘So.’

‘So,’ echoes Jongdae with a smile.

Minseok rolls his eyes. ‘When do we leave?’)

-

‘Are you lonely?’ asks Zitao one morning, up this early because he must have been awake all night. Jongdae tries not to feel pleased at the idea of him being the one keeping Zitao up.

For now, he unfolds a robe on his bed, smoothes it out. ‘In which way, Taozi?’

Zitao hates it when Jongdae’s back is turned to him; predictably, he strides across the room and rounds on Jongdae, unafraid to use his taller physique to get Jongdae to back up a step, the back of his knee hitting the edge of the cot.

The irritation slides off Zitao’s expression in a second, replaced by a guarded sort of curiousity, one that has words come out slow and careful when he speaks. ‘I mean… Sehun… you let him in here - are you… do you… want me?’

Jongdae reaches out, fingers catching over the sleeve of Zitao’s sleep shirt. ‘Don’t I already have you?’

So easy, the way Zitao tips his head forward, lashes casting shadows over his cheeks, as he bites his lip, looks at Jongdae, just a little hurt. ‘Why does Sehun… get to come here?’

‘Jealous it’s not just you anymore?’

Zitao flinches, looks away. ‘That’s not fair.’

‘He’s my student too.’

‘Yes, but - !’ he starts, stops, jaw clicking shut. Even Zitao can hear how petty he sounds, and flush of shame only climbs higher on his cheeks.

‘Isn’t it enough,’ drawls Jongdae, ‘to be the ruler of all this?’ He lets go of Zitao’s sleeve, turns away. ‘You’re already special.’

They can both feel it - the way the gap between them becomes a chasm, yawning open. With a sigh, Zitao looks at the edge and doesn’t jump. ‘You’re right.’

He leaves. Now, Jongdae waits.

-

That’s all it really takes - patience.

Then, as predicted, Zitao wants more.

Perhaps ‘more’ is the wrong term - Zitao has what he wants and more: a small world of his own to rule over and a beautiful boy who is in love with him at his side.

It is only the enigmatic thing that Jongdae represents which is out of Zitao’s reach. Zitao doesn’t want Jongdae himself - no, Zitao already knows he has Jongdae. That is Jongdae’s weakness; he has never been subtle with his favouritism, and his easy deference to whatever Zitao asks of him is clear to anyone who sees them.

If Sehun casts himself into the light, then Jongdae will linger in shadow, and he will force Zitao’s hand. Zitao searches, even if he doesn’t know it, for the middle road between them. The place where he can exist and have both Sehun and Jongdae for himself - but he’s being greedy and he knows it.

The colony will stay, no matter what he chooses. At least Jongdae decided it will. If Zitao picks Sehun over him, then Jongdae will be generous and choose _not_ to slaughter the thousands of people on this planet simply to send a message. It seems too petty, and it doesn’t help his case of winning over his own apprentice.

That’s what Zitao is in the end - an apprentice, a Sith lord in the making.

He’s also a boy-god upon a throne, a shining glorious presence that commands attention, responsible with a streak of childish delinquency, serious and playful and the only one, the _only one_ , that even comes close to what Jongdae is, to _who_ Jongdae is.

Of course, if Jongdae was simply waiting for Zitao to choose, he would wait for decades, for centuries, until their names were all buried under a landslide of these rocks.

No - he stopped waiting when he accessed the flight routes Zitao took when using his ship, before taking her out himself, to different trade routes, to colonies that would attract attention, spreading rumours that would spin and tangle in its own semantics before leading back to Zitao and this colony. Time fumbles and flows but it never stops in its path, and now Jongdae _anticipates_.

Then Zitao will learn: every kingdom must fall and every god must gamble.

-

Zitao finds him high up against a row of bluffs, watching the glimmer of stars wink into existence once the glow of the sun disappears under the horizon.

‘You remember how we met,’ he says in greeting, huddled under his robe. ‘It was like the start of those badly written intergalactic romances.’

‘A mysterious stranger walks into a bar, is enchanted by the performer on stage,’ says Jongdae, laughing in nostalgia. He closes his eyes, thinks of Zitao under those lights - a boy, with all eyes on him, magnetic and attention-grabbing. ‘The beautiful performer.’

‘Chenchen,’ whines Zitao in pleased embarrassment, standing beside Jongdae now, shoulder against his, warmth leaking through.

‘And then the music changed,’ continues Jongdae. ‘You stopped singing and started - ‘ He waves a hand, grimacing. ‘It sounded terrible after that.’

‘Well, Hun-ah _likes_ rapping,’ laughs Zitao, tipping his head onto Jongdae’s shoulder, nuzzling against him. ‘You can’t listen to all those old songs forever.’

‘Classics don’t age,’ snaps Jongdae, scowling. ‘And did Sehun ever hear _you_ perform?’

‘Hell no.’ Zitao nudges him, laughter caught under his breath. ‘I haven’t - not even _sung_ , not in years… Not since I met you.’

Jongdae traces constellations in the night sky before him. ‘Has it been years?’

‘Don’t you keep track of time?’ He sounds exasperated, but his cold nose nuzzles into Jongdae’s cheek.

‘I do, just not in months.’

‘In what then?’

‘Events.’ Jongdae gestures to the colony that spreads out to one side - stretching from the stone faces of the bluffs, down an incline, until it spreads on more flatter surfaces, with the ships all parked on cleared, flat ground on the other side. ‘The years of Zitao’s colony.’

‘My colony,’ hums Zitao, pleased. ‘But not ours? You’re the one who whisked me away on your ship.’

‘I promised you the entire universe.’ He points towards the night sky, traces over brightly lit stars. ‘Every star system, each planet.’

Zitao is quiet now, completely still. No longer pressing for Jongdae’s attention, his eyes rapt upon the sky above them both. ‘No one can do that.’

‘That’s not what you said back then.’

‘I was young.’

‘I’m going to change the world, no - the universe,’ says Jongdae, pitching his voice to imitate Zitao from back then. ‘With my own rules.’

‘ _That’s_ what I sound like?’ snaps Zitao, pulling away, tugging his cloak closer around himself. He’s not looking at Jongdae, nor at the sky. ‘ _You’re_ the one who said I had to rule the universe first, before changing it.’

‘And now you rule a colony - your own utopia, isn’t it?’ presses Jongdae. ‘When did you become satisfied with this?’

Zitao jerks his head up and stares at Jongdae, eyes wide in surprise. ‘I know what you’re trying to do, Chenchen.’

‘And what is that, Taozi?’

‘I won’t go with you if you want to leave. I’m going to stay here.’

Jongdae scoffs at how _wrong_ Zitao is, doesn’t even bother with a reply. He turns on his heel and walks back to the colony.

-

Sehun finishes his lightsabre and Jongdae permits Zitao to begin building his own.

Predictably, the sabre glows orange, and Sehun happily wields it with flourish, practicing his forms through with the new weight in his hands.

Jongdae watches them - the way Sehun rattles off how fun it is, how Zitao pouts, laughs, and shows off his own work on his handle. They will always have an easiness between them, but Jongdae is proud of the tension that he can see crease Zitao’s brow when Sehun isn’t looking.

In another world, he might even feel bad for the way he pits them against each other, but he won’t lose Zitao to the light side without at least trying, using, deceiving. After all, he must put Zitao in the perfect place before the grand finale that is soon to arrive.

‘Have it done by the time I come back,’ he tells Zitao before he boards his ship.

Zitao stays behind, intent on finishing. ‘Make sure you come back - your ship is always this close to falling apart.’

Jongdae shows his teeth in a smile. ‘Not what you said when you first saw it.’

‘I was young and stupid.’

‘And now you’re wise and grown?’ he snorts.

Zitao yowls at the jab, miming to throw something at Jongdae’s head, but Jongdae laughs and walks up the ramp, waving goodbye. ‘I’ll be gone for a bit - some errands I have to run.’

‘You’re always running _errands_.’

‘Sound so suspicious.’

‘Wouldn’t be if you just told me what.’

‘And you can’t find out yourself?’

Jongdae is pushing, pushing at Zitao, and Zitao’s eyes flash, but he looks away. ‘Just come back safe, Chenchen.’

‘Of course.’

-

This is what the stars know - a Sith lord lives in the distance and amasses an army.

Whatever shall the Jedi Order do? Except, of course, what is good for them.

-

On his return, Zitao is done the handle of his sabre. He presents the glowing orange lightsabre proudly to Jongdae, and Jongdae laughs, can’t _help_ it, when it’s been so long since he’s seen Zitao, and tells him all that he wants to hear - ‘it’s beautiful, and strong, you did great work on this, Taozi’ - to bask in the happy glow from Zitao’s bashful grin.

Sehun is a glad sparring partner. Jongdae sits on the edge of a cliff, watching Zitao exchange blows with Sehun on a plateau below, easy and practiced. The noise of lightsabres slicing through the air is a familiar sound, nostalgic for Jongdae who hasn’t used his sabre in years now. Not ever since he met Zitao.

Perhaps he’s become peaceful in his coming years, if waiting for a war is considered being peaceful. For now, he’s satisfied just watching the two. If they both fight like this, they won’t die. That’s all Jongdae can ask for as he glances up at the sky, waiting for the horizon to fill up with ships.

-

Only hindsight can give this moment meaning.

It is a new moon, blanketing everything in a heavy pall of darkness. Jongdae can’t sleep - the Force prickles along the bare skin of his hands, his throat, trying to tell him what it knows is coming, though Jongdae can only catch whispers.

In hindsight, this is the last night of peace, and nothing breaks the silence, except for the soft thud of Zitao’s footsteps in the hallway. Without any ceremony, he enters Jongdae’s room, casting his eyes from Jongdae sitting up on his cot, following his gaze outside the window.

‘I checked,’ he says, voice uncharacteristically hoarse. ‘Where you went - on your ship logs, not just _this_ time, but all the other times. I checked them all.’

Jongdae can’t look away from the window. He’s spent so long living here and yet any constellations, the patterns of star systems, distant planets - he can’t recognize a single one. He’s been looking at the ground too long, at Zitao too long.

‘Was it interesting?’ asks Jongdae. ‘I would hope so.’

‘What did you _do_?’

The wave of fear from Zitao pushes at Jongdae, makes him look away from the night sky to all the beautiful, angled shadows over Zitao’s face as he stands there, tense, nervous, confused. ‘Only what I thought should be done.’

‘You visited all the star systems and planets that you _told_ me, and _trained_ me to avoid - ’ Zitao takes a step back, something like betrayal in his expression. ‘I was so worried, all this time - one day you’d _leave_ , but this - it wasn’t enough to leave me, you want to leave me with _nothing_.’

‘You’re wrong,’ snaps Jongdae. He stands, even with his meagre height, and lets the Force press the weight of his words on Zitao’s shoulders. ‘I’m giving you the universe, for one small sacrifice.’

‘A small sacrifice? There are _thousands_ of people down there - !’

‘And not all of them will die - in fact, if we do it my way, none of them will die.’ Jongdae spreads his arms, shows his palms. ‘That’s your choice.’

‘The Jedi will come and they’ll take everything away from me, all because of you, Chenchen,’ says Zitao slowly. ‘It’s not my choice at all.’

It’s true that the choice Jongdae wants is a more spiritual one. That he hates seeing Zitao’s lightsabre glow orange - symbolizing him as a user who knew the dark side, but did not participate in it. Close to red, but not too close, not enough.

To become Sith is to choose the unspeakable, to embrace betrayal, to understand emotion and how it rules over the Force so much better, so much more _intimately_ , than any Jedi will know.

He just wants Zitao to choose. To choose _him_.

‘Unless…’ Zitao licks his bottom lip, shoulders relaxing, going still. ‘Unless I give the Jedi what they want.’

Jongdae smiles. ‘You’re not good enough to even make me use my sabre, Tao.’

‘I’ve been practicing,’ he shoots back.

 ‘Then come,’ Jongdae says, laughing.

-

Back during his time in the Jedi temple, he’d never been particularly the strongest nor the fastest. His control over his body had been above-average at best - only achieved through hard work and extra practice, under the tutelage of another apprentice.

The only thing he knew better than anyone was the Force, intimately sure of it, how it coalesced between his fingertips, was a blanket of knowing all around him, whispering into his ear of everything that passed around him.

Some would say prodigy, others luck, but Jongdae knows no one else hears the Force as close as he does, no one else can use it as he can.

‘Why - ’ gasps Zitao, holding the lightsabre in his hand, eyebrows pinched. ‘Why can’t I hit you?’

He lunges forward again, the sabre coming in for a stab into Jongdae’s chest, before Jongdae side-steps it entirely. Immediately, Zitao sweeps the sabre to the side, but Jongdae ducks, steps away again.

While Jongdae remains untouched, he can’t say the same for his cot, the desk, all the things he had hung upon his wall. His room is in tatters, even the box of parts for a lightsabre are strewn on the ground, half-destroyed by the reckless swings of Zitao. No matter - Jongdae would never need anyone else to make a sabre in his lifetime.

‘I told you,’ says Jongdae, laughing again, as he dances away from all of Zitao’s swings, jabs, slices. ‘This is what you settled for - _this_ meagre power.’

Zitao lowers his lightsabre. ‘So that’s it. This is all I can attain without you, without being a _Sith_ like you.’

‘This is all you’re worth,’ replies Jongdae softly.

The Force flares around Zitao, and the next thing Jongdae knows, he’s being pinned against the wall, his wrists trapped against the stone, his throat being choked by an invisible hand.

‘Is _this_ what being a Sith is?’ snaps Zitao, his hand outstretched, closing his fingers so that Jongdae’s airway is cut off entirely. ‘Being angry? Upset? _Betrayed_?’

Jongdae can hear himself make pathetic gagging noises as he tries to breathe, his body rebelling against the lack of air. Yet he doesn’t dispel the Force from himself, not when something dark curls around Zitao, takes hold of him. No - he’ll bear this torture yet.

‘I hate you - I _hate_ you,’ says Zitao, stepping closer, so that the weight of the Force pinning Jongdae increases. ‘Is _that_ what you want Chenchen? To make me want to _hurt_ you?’

Lightheaded now, Jongdae manages to grin, shows his teeth in the gloom.

‘That’s the rules, right - if I kill you, then I become a Sith lord too.’ Zitao stares at him, expression dark with anger.

Jongdae waits, even as blackness encroaches his vision, and finally, _finally_ , Zitao takes a step forward, hand curling into a fist.

-

In the morning dawn, Zitao sits on the floor with his back to the wall.

Sehun comes into the room in a rush - breathless. ‘We have visitors.’ He pauses at the sight of the room - furniture destroyed, clothes and tools and metal parts half-melted and scattered, the walls scarred from slices of of a sabre. ‘I thought - ’ He bites back his tongue, then, slowly, ‘Tao?’

Zitao blinks slowly, before raising his head. ‘Hun-ah.’ Standing up, he holds the metal handle of his sabre at his side. ‘Hun-ah, kill the visitors.’

Balking, Sehun lets out a surprised noise. ‘They’re Jedi -  just two of them.’ He takes another look around the room. ‘Where is Chen?’

‘I took care of him.’

This time, Sehun doesn’t look away from Zitao. ‘What do you mean, Tao?’

With a deep breath, Zitao raises his handle and brings out his sabre. It glows a beautiful blood red. ‘We need to go. Both of us.’

‘Wait - what happened? I thought - ’ Sehun’s cheeks flush, but he spits it out. ‘I thought you were fucking, not fighting.’

‘I’ve only ever slept with you, Sehunnie,’ says Zitao, his expression painfully honest. ‘Now, please listen to me.’

‘No - no, I’m not killing Jedi until you explain to me _why_.’

‘I - I made a mistake,’ says Zitao softly. ‘A mistake - here, with you. I thought I could have it all just with this.’

‘This?’ Sehun gestures around him, to himself. ‘You built this - all of this is _yours_. How much more do you want?’

The words are a wave, crashing up against Zitao’s chest, making him step back, try to hide his face behind his free hand. ‘I want _everything_ , Hun-ah. Not _just_ this - and Chen knows it. He knows I don’t - I’m never going to be satisfied - not until I have it _all_ , but we have to leave.’

‘He? Chen did this?’ Sehun brings out his sabre - a bright orange in the half-shadows of the temple room. ‘Where is he?’

Zitao lowers his hand, looking up at Sehun, surprised. ‘You’re not going to fight him.’

‘Why not?’ challenges Sehun. ‘You’re upset, Tao - you want to _kill_ people, _visitors_. All this from a visit to Chen’s room.’

‘No, no,’ he starts, stops, words caught in his throat. ‘No, please, Hun-ah.’

The plea doesn’t reach. Sehun strides out into the corridor, lightsabre swinging at his side.

-

‘Something… is strange here,’ murmurs Junmyeon to the wind. Kyungsoo steps beside him, robes flapping around him. ‘Is this really an army? Especially his?’

‘Don’t underestimate Jongdae,’ says Kyungsoo, readjusting the handle of his lightsabre on his belt underneath his robe.

‘I can’t sense him either, but…’

‘What?’

‘There’s Force users here.’ Junmyeon closes his eyes, tries to focus. ‘Two of them. Neither Jongdae.’

‘He’s training two Sith apprentices?’ As they walk from their ship into the horizon where the rising stone-hewn buildings of the town rise up, Kyungsoo can’t help but snort. ‘Seems like overkill. Twice the chances to get killed.’

‘Did one of his apprentices kill him already then?’ Junmyeon scratches his cheek. ‘I mean that’s good news and bad.’

‘Jongdae killed his Sith lord, and now one of his apprentices has killed him. Either the Sith line is getting weaker or stronger.’ Grimacing, Kyungsoo looks up at the cliff that rises far into the distance, the pillars carved into the rock, the windows and entrance that leads inside. ‘Can’t wait to find out.’

-

Sehun sweeps his gaze over the colony from a plateau of rock high above, picking up blips in the Force - some familiar, some not so much. Nothing like the heavy weight of Chen’s aura comes up, and it has his stomach tighten. Either Chen was dead - by Tao, he reminds himself - or he was gone. Yet his ship still stood in the distance, on the flattened stone to the west of the colony, where others had also parked their own transport.

Behind him, he hears the familiar shuffle of Zitao’s footsteps on the dirt, and acknowledges him. ‘I’m going to find him.’

‘No, you won’t.’

‘So you killed him.’

‘And if I did, Hun-ah?’ asks Zitao, his voice soft and pleading. ‘What then?’

Sehun turns around, irritated, confused. ‘Why? I don’t understand - _why_?’

Zitao’s expression is sad, but not regretful, and it stings Sehun, who has known, has _loved_ , Zitao for so, so long.

‘I was so mad at him…’ starts Zitao. ‘I was so mad that he was forcing me to choose between this - you, these people - and him. So I - I attacked him, choked him, tried to force him to back down, and because - because I did that, I realized…’

‘So that’s it?’ Sehun laughs humourlessly. ‘You picked the dark side for one situation, and suddenly, you have to - to become, what? A Sith?’

‘I’ve always,’ murmurs Zitao, almost inaudible, ‘I’ve always been on this side.’

‘Have you?’ he challenges.

‘Yes!’ snaps Zitao suddenly, voice rising, expression pulled tight in distress, trying to make Sehun understand. ‘I want - I want so much - I want everything, and I keep taking, with or without the Force. I’ve always had what I wanted - and I realized - I can’t have this _and_ Chen. And I choose Chen, Hun-ah. I choose this side, because it’s _more_. It has the keys to the entire universe, and that’s - that’s what I truly want.’

Sehun stares at him, eyes burning. ‘And now, you just - kill the Jedi? Move on? Even from _me_?’

‘Sehunnie,’ pleads Zitao. ‘Sehunnie, _please_.’

‘Every Sith tried to get power and every Sith has died,’ he says softly. ‘So I can’t - I can’t let you go that way.’

‘Come _with_ me.’

‘I don’t want the universe, Tao,’ replies Sehun, drawing out his lightsabre. ‘I’ve only ever wanted you.’

Zitao stares back at him, tears tracking silently down his cheeks, and draws out his own sabre in a blaze of red. ‘I’m sorry.’

-

The clash of two Force users ripples through the air, making Junmyeon flinch, as he looks around them, then upwards, eyes trailing along the rocky surface of the cliff face.

‘Did you feel that?’ asks Kyungsoo, following Junmyeon’s gaze. ‘Are the apprentices trying to kill each other now?’

‘Something isn’t right,’ insists Junmyeon, looking for the steps to start climbing up along the wall. ‘Jongdae isn’t dead.’

‘Then he’s gone,’ says the other.

‘To leave behind his apprentices at the mercy of two Jedi?’ He shakes his head. ‘I know him, Kyungsoo-ah.’

His partner doesn’t listen.  ‘He’s Chen now, Junmyeon. No more light left in him.’

‘It’s not about light, it’s about strategy.’ Pulling the sabre handle from his belt, Junmyeon flicks his thumb and listens to the familiar hum of his lightsabre coming to life, glowing a deep blue. Kyungsoo follows, his sabre a bright yellow. ‘If they’re still apprentices, we take them alive.’

‘I missed interrogating Siths,’ replies Kyungsoo in agreement as they keep walking towards the fight they can feel.

-

The difference is only this: Jedi detach from the world to control the Force, and the Sith - they grow desperate claws in order to hold onto that world.

‘Then how can you be a Sith?’ asks a younger Zitao, a Zitao that had said _yes_ to the boy who invited him onto his ship, a Zitao who still smells of the bar smoke as he stretches himself out over Jongdae’s bed, wondering if they will fuck tonight, not that it matters because just listening to Jongdae speak is enrapturing in its own way.

‘I’m not emotional enough?’ asks Jongdae, sitting on the edge of the cot next to Zitao’s hip, eyes sliding down the length of Zitao’s body.

Zitao shivers under the heavy gaze, drawing his bottom lip under his teeth slow and deliberate. ‘You don’t show it like some people would expect.’

‘The key is to choose one feeling.’ Jongdae leans forward, a secret on his tongue only for Zitao to taste. ‘Some Sith, they choose anger. Others, they pick fear. My master - his was pride. What do you think mine is?’

Zitao can _feel_ the weight of Jongdae’s aura pressing down around him, keeping him pinned to the cot underneath. He wants to lift his hands, grab the black collar of Jongdae’s robe, and draw him close, but there’s a sense that he’ll be crushed if he does. All of him obliterated under the dead weight of Jongdae’s eyes, Jongdae’s presence. ‘Yours is desire.’

-

This is why Sehun is losing, thinks Zitao, feeling a sluggish sadness sink into the pit of his stomach as he parries each of Sehun’s strikes, counterattacks with a terrifying sort of ease. Sehun doesn’t have a feeling to hold onto - because he has too many, a myriad of emotions that tangle into each other, so his faith mixes with his fears, his trust with loneliness, his desire with helplessness.

‘I’m sorry,’ says Zitao again, thinks if he can repeat it enough, maybe it’ll sink into Sehun’s skin that this is goodbye. He can’t have the universe and Sehun too - the Force was a balancing act, and this is Zitao’s sacrifice.

‘You don’t - !’ starts Sehun, taking one step forward in his jab, dodging two steps back when Zitao’s sabre comes at him. ‘You don’t have to _do_ this!’

The yell forces Zitao back a little, his Force coming into conflict with Sehun’s. _Orange means Sehunnie flirted with the dark side, but never joined_ , he remembers Jongdae saying. He wouldn’t join Zitao, he wouldn’t.

The pause in their fight is when they both feel it - the presence of two other users quickly approaching them. Sehun backs off from the edge of the plateau, gaze flicking between Zitao and whoever else was coming. Zitao steps back as well, sabre raised and eyes narrowed.

By the look of the white robes and sabres in their hands, Zitao quickly sizes them up as the two Jedi whose ship had landed earlier this morning. They’re both short, dark haired - one dark-eyed and intense, the other handsome and regal-seeming.

‘The Jedi,’ exhales Sehun, hand holding his lightsabre lowering a bit. ‘Why are you here?’

The two exchange looks, and Zitao shakes his head. ‘Chenchen told them that we were building an army here.’

One of them speaks just then - the handsome one. ‘Is he here? Your master?’

‘He’s _not_ a master,’ spits out Sehun, eyes glittering with anger.

‘No,’ answers Zitao, keeping his sabre raised. ‘He won’t be coming back.’

The dark-eyed one sizes him up. ‘So you killed him - now you’re a Sith lord yourself, hm.’

Zitao doesn’t bother answering. ‘Have this colony if you want - I’m leaving.’

There’s a pause, seeming of bewilderment. Sehun isn’t looking at Zitao anymore - jaw clenched tight with how he feels. Finally, one of the Jedi raises his blue lightsabre. ‘I’m Junmyeon, of the Jedi. This is my partner Kyungsoo. We cannot let a Sith lord go.’

‘Don’t touch him,’ says Sehun suddenly, eyes wide, sliding into a stance.

‘Sehunnie,’ says Zitao, a shameless beg. ‘Sehunnie, please - please come.’

‘I _won’t_ ,’ he replies, gaze centred on Junmyeon. ‘But that doesn’t mean they get to hurt you.’

Kyungsoo seems impassive at best, rolling his wrist so his sabre cuts through the air with a hum. ‘Pick a side or die.’

Two against one has fear crawling up Zitao’s throat - he could let go of Sehun, for a year, maybe two, maybe half a lifetime, because of the hope of returning home to him. There was no alternative where Sehun dies, especially not because he still, _still_ , adored Zitao enough to defend him.

Just as Kyungsoo slides into position, facing Sehun - Zitao feels his throat tighten as the Force ripples all around them. Before him, Junmyeon’s gaze is attentive, scanning the horizon for the source, and Zitao knows. He _knows_.

Above the plateau, five hundred metres into the air, comes the buzz of a ship’s engine - like a black beetle descending upon them.

They all peer up as the entrance ramp on the base of the ship opens up to show Jongdae standing there, holding one of the connecting bars, as the wind whips his black robes around his legs, the vest over his torso showing off the deadly curve of his arms and shoulders.

‘Jongdae,’ exhales Junmyeon, and Zitao jerks his gaze to him in surprise. Junmyeon doesn’t notice the reaction - his entire being rapt at Jongdae’s entrance, how the ship keeps coming down, only a hundred metres now, the engine overwhelming in its noise so that Zitao can’t even _think_ \- only _feel_ how the Force gathers around Jongdae, wraps him up like he’s come home.

‘Fuck,’ snaps Kyungsoo, turning towards Junmyeon. ‘We should’ve killed these ones while we had the chance.’

Junmyeon clenches his jaw, but doesn’t stop watching. Zitao can’t look away either. Eventually, Jongdae comes down to the edge of the ramp and jumps, the Force cushioning his landing smoothly, while the black ship rises back up into the air, the din of the engine dimming.

‘Kyungsoo-ah,’ greets Jongdae brightly, his arms spread wide as if to embrace him. ‘Junmyeon-hyung. I haven’t you seen you two in years.’

‘Nice army you have here,’ replies Kyungsoo flatly. ‘Bunch of miners and housewives.’

Jongdae shrugs. ‘You make do when you’re on the run.’

From across the plateau, Zitao can see Sehun clutching the base of his sabre with both hands, clearly judging if he can kill Jongdae at his distance.

The attempt is worth something - Jongdae’s smile at least slips off his mouth when he hears the sharp slice of a sabre coming towards him. He steps aside and dodges the blow smoothly, but not before Sehun tries for a upper angle attack. Again, Zitao watches helplessly as he did last night - the dance of Jongdae, how he seems almost playful keeping away from each strike, as if Sehun has been practicing for a day, not _years_.

‘I guess you’re not coming with us?’ asks Jongdae when Sehun pauses to catch his breath. There is sweat on Sehun’s brow, streaking down his nape to make his shirt stick to his back, yet even dressed in all black, Jongdae is composed, beautiful. ‘You were always more light than dark, weren’t you, Sehunnie?’

‘Fuck you,’ he snarls. ‘You _tricked_ Taozi into joining you, you bastard.’

 _That_ earns a reaction.

Any amusement in Jongdae’s expression vanishes, left with his heavy gaze and flat mouth, drawing a sabre handle from his belt. ‘Watch your mouth, Sehunnie.’

‘Sehun,’ starts Zitao, a new chill running down his spine.

‘Shut up,’ replies Sehun, easing back into an attacking position, lightsabre raised. ‘You manipulated him, didn’t you? Tao - I _know_ him, and you - you would use his _love_ against him, just to use him, you fucking piece of shit.’

It’s not the first time Zitao has seen Jongdae’s lightsabre - there have been numerous times when Jongdae showed it off so that him and Sehun could build their own handle properly. Even during their first weeks together - just him and Jongdae - Jongdae had showed it off like it was a party trick, and tucked the handle away afterwards with a shrug.

It’s not the _seeing_ that catches Zitao off-guard, it’s the realization that this is the first time he witnesses Jongdae _use_ his lightsabre for its intended purpose. As a _weapon_.

The colour is as beautiful of a red as Zitao’s, but the sabre length is almost half of Zitao’s. it doesn’t look so short when Jongdae wields it with his smaller frame, but when he parries Sehun’s attack, the difference is obvious. Sehun’s sabre gives him distance; Jongdae’s takes him right up close.

The fight is short, brutal. Jongdae moves much more smoothly than Sehun’s long limbs can keep up with, has him going on the defensive quickly. Jongdae’s short sabre means he moves it fast, agile, and before Sehun knows it, his sabre is flying out of his hand, and Jongdae is slamming the base of his sabre’s handle against Sehun’s wrist, breaking the bone with a loud crack.

Sehun screams, and Zitao doesn’t even _think_ \- rushes over to catch him, arms wrapped protectively around Sehun’s shoulders as Sehun starts gasping with the pain now coursing through his system.

‘You didn’t teach your apprentices anything,’ sneers Kyungsoo, both him and Junmyeon seemingly happy to stay aside and watch the drama unfold before they make their move. Zitao guesses this is at least an advantage - Sehun was an active threat and now he can’t even wield his weapon, and Zitao… Zitao was all youth and inexperience. Even if he was going to run at them with his lightsabre, he’s sure he would be disarmed before he even hit the ground.

So that’s what it came down to - Jongdae and his old Jedi order.

‘Junmyeon-hyung,’ says Jongdae, ignoring Kyungsoo. ‘Take Sehun on as a Jedi.’

Kyungsoo makes a disbelieving noise in the back of his throat, eyeing Sehun curled up against Zitao. Junmyeon keeps his eyes on Jongdae, meeting that heavy gaze with no intention of backing down. It’s impressive.

‘The order would never allow it,’ says Junmyeon, voice steady but soft.

‘He needs to learn meditation,’ continues Jongdae, ‘but he’d pass the trials easily.’

‘And if we don’t take him with us? What if we left him on this cliffside entirely, Jongdae?’

Zitao stares at Jongdae, and Jongdae’s jaw twitches with an answer that Zitao is sure of even if it makes him sick to his stomach - that Jongdae would kill Sehun, a loose end, without blinking an eye. Thankfully, Jongdae simply shakes his head. ‘That’s not an option - you at least need to take him prisoner for his affiliation with me.’ He nods at Kyungsoo. ‘Kyungsoo-ah will at least have fun.’

Kyungsoo smirks, looking at Sehun with appraising eyes, like Sehun is a piece of meat. Zitao swallows hard, protectiveness rising up as he holds Sehun closer, careful not to hurt his wrist.

‘And say I take Sehun,’ says Junmyeon, ‘then what? You just walk away from here with your apprentice?’

‘Yes,’ replies Jongdae, perfectly sincere. He grips the handle of his sabre. ‘Don’t make me fight you, hyung.’

‘Two against one, Jongdae. You’re outmatched.’

‘Playing stupid doesn’t suit you, hyung,’ sighs Jongdae. ‘You know who’s on that ship.’

The black ship, just a speck in the distance, but still there, waiting for Jongdae and Zitao both. That was the plan - that Zitao would grab a ship and shoot into the outersphere where Jongdae would be waiting for him with a crew. But the fight with Sehun took too long, the arrival of the Jedi an even bigger delay - the ship must’ve come down to check if Zitao was still alive.

Junmyeon’s jaw tightens. He sheathes his sabre, sliding the handle into his belt. ‘I know your crew. I will keep chasing you, Jongdae.’

‘I know,’ says Jongdae, his expression strangely soft in that moment. ‘But I have something bigger planned now.’ He gestures towards Zitao, his gaze affectionate. ‘I’m going to give Taozi the universe.’

Zitao stares up at him, caught off-guard, before he glances at Junmyeon, in time to see the surprise register on his face.

‘You’ll bring war to the Jedi then.’

‘Maybe after its finally destroyed, we can be on the same side again, hyung.’

‘Those times are long past.’

‘You’re right,’ he says, nodding to himself. ‘That’s why I need Zitao - he’s shown me a future.’

‘Is Sehun right?’ presses Junmyeon. ‘Did you manipulate your own apprentice, Jongdae?’

Jongdae shrugs, looks at Zitao, at how he cradles Sehun close to him, scared and protective and determined. ‘You know you can’t have both.’

Zitao’s eyes burn, the sadness tightening around his chest, making him _ache_. ‘I _hate_ you.’

‘I know,’ he says, hand drifting to touch his throat, expression contemplative. ‘C’mon, Zitao - hyung will take care of Sehunnie.’

And just like that, Zitao helplessly obeys, knowing nothing else except this - that even after a betrayal as bad as this, Jongdae still has him, still _enraptures_ him, and Zitao can’t ever imagine not following him out of the bar that one night, can’t ever imagine an ending that isn’t _this_.

In a way, maybe Zitao has known along - that it would come to this. That Jongdae is an all-consuming force, never to be ignored, and not even Sehun would escape unscathed, yet Zitao had still greedily adored Sehun, tried to postpone the inevitable consequences.

As Zitao walks behind Jongdae, his sabre gripped in his hand, his back to the Jedi and Sehun and the entire colony he created, he wonders if Sehun will ever realize it was Zitao’s love for Sehun that made him realize he was meant to be a Sith all along.

-

‘Now what?’ asks Zitao, young and beautiful on Jongdae’s bed, eyes wide and oh-so-curious.

Jongdae can smell the bar on him - smoke and booze and sweat and dust - but it doesn’t matter, because he can also feel the greedy pull of the Force around Zitao, how it kept everyone’s eyes on him.

And now Zitao is here, because Jongdae - oh, he could do that too. Tug on the Force around Zitao, make Zitao’s eyes slide over the patrons in placid appreciation before anchoring on Jongdae in the back, unable to look away for the rest of the song.

‘What do you want?’ asks Jongdae, helpless at how _naturally_ Zitao is attuned to his own energy. This one - he wants this one, more than anything.

‘ _Well_ , if not you,’ drawls Zitao, so clear that he wants to see if he can push at Jongdae, get under his skin. He doesn’t know he’s already there. ‘I want - I want the _universe_. I want to _change_ it, and for them to all know me, know all that I can do.’

Yes, thinks Jongdae, even if it takes days, months, _years_ , he will have Zitao.

-

Minseok is in the holding bay as the ramp comes up and closes behind Jongdae and Zitao. ‘Duizhang wants to backtrack a few star systems,’ he says, eyes trailing over Zitao. ‘But the ride won’t be bumpy.’

‘Sounds good,’ replies Jongdae, half-turning on his heel to look back at Zitao. ‘Come.’

Zitao’s shoulders hang low, the Force around him vibrating with anguish, eyes dark and angry when he matches gazes with Jongdae ahead of him. ‘Where.’ His voice is rough and low, energy coiled under his skin like he was waiting for the perfect moment to stab Jongdae through the gut with his lightsabre.

Maybe he was. Jongdae always liked the emotional flares of Zitao - it made his control over the Force that much more fluid and efficient. Soon, Zitao would start to harness that ability. ‘To your room in the ship, Tao. Or do you want to sleep in the holding bay?’

‘It’s cold here,’ supplies Minseok gently. ‘Yixing rerouted the engine heat to the living quarters instead of here.’

That seems to make him relent. He follows Jongdae as they climb out the bay and into the main corridor, navigating the inner rooms of the ship onto an upper floor. Minseok stays behind to head to the cockpit while Jongdae treads the familiar steps along the metal hall to a series of doors along the wall. One of the doors slides back to show a room furnished with cot and desk and stool, entirely bare except for the linens Minseok had folded neatly and left behind on the cot.

‘This is your room,’ says Jongdae, watching as Zitao steps inside. ‘This is your crew.’

Zitao turns his back towards Jongdae, but Jongdae can hear the sneer in his voice. ‘Is _this_ the universe you wanted to give me, Chenchen?’

‘Don’t be a brat,’ warns Jongdae lowly. ‘You chose this.’

Turning around sharply, Zitao stares at him with wide eyes. ‘You _forced_ me to choose. Why - why didn’t you just… make me a Sith from the _beginning_? Why did you have to let me love Hun-ah?’

Jongdae snorts. ‘You didn’t have to love him, Tao. That was your choice as well.’

For a moment, Zitao looks like he’ll strike Jongdae, but reigns the impulse back. ‘ _You_ forced him to leave.’

His patience was wearing thin already, but Zitao’s stubbornness doesn’t seem to want to rest, and it’s getting to be a bit much. ‘No,’ he starts, lip curling up in annoyance. ‘I _saved_ him. You should be _grateful_ , Taozi.’ He steps forward, letting his presence fill up the room. ‘I was going to _kill_ him before Junmyeon-hyung showed up. Give him a worthy death by defending you.’ Another step, and this time Zitao takes a step back, eyes still on Jongdae. ‘His death would’ve been the grand motivation, the pain that gave you control, to _change_ the universe as you always wanted.’

Zitao doesn’t say anything, staring down at him with jaw clenched tight, and Jongdae can’t help it - takes the silence to continue: ‘Instead, I _spared_ him. For _you_. And now the best part - ’Jongdae grins wide, sharp teeth gleaming in the gloom, no mercy spared, ‘you _knew_ this and followed me on this ship anyway.’

As expected, Zitao flinches, taking another step back. ‘I’m not like you,’ he says quietly.

‘You’re everything like me,’ replies Jongdae, turning around. ‘You just won’t admit it yet.’

-

Sometimes, stories filter through the stars, and Jongdae catches phrases of his master long gone, threaded through half-myths and truths disguised as rumours, peppering the universe with a figure that Jongdae only recognized because he was present.

Even the Jedi - in the godforsaken planets at the outer edges of the galaxy - are nothing but mythical creatures, full of magic and prayer, warrior-monks that save those in need. They are heroes that vanish once the story is done, a children’s tale to fight off the dark, and hold no permanency in those vast forgotten landscapes.

His master spoke well of power, of how heady an addiction it was. From which cup power poured out of, from which fountain to drink of - all the ways to grasp strings of a person and hold them under one’s sway, to rule over them, to _control_ them.

Maybe it’s not power Jongdae that he’s looking for, because it’s not like he felt any different once his master left. His master gave up that power for something sweeter - dripped love from his tongue when he said his goodbyes to Jongdae. ‘You know everything anyway don’t you?’ He didn’t, not as much as his master, but he wonders if that’s simply a gap in experience. ‘Then let me die, and become a Sith master.’

Like a dutiful apprentice, Jongdae lets his master become nothing more than a rumour, a ghost, in the course of history. If they ever cross paths again - doubtful - he wonders if he should kill the man for sure, but then his master will vanish permanently, and the idea _chokes_ at Jongdae.

Zitao - oh - even years later, he wants so much, wants the entire universe to bow at his feet, acknowledge him as more than good, more than great.

Still, the question nags at Jongdae. What does he want?

If not power, if not love, if not even the high of control - what else is left?

-

It doesn’t surprise him that only a few hours later, once the ship is on a steady course through space and most of the crew is at rest, that Zitao decides to make an entrance into Jongdae’s room.

He walks past the threshold, unsympathetic to any privacy Jongdae might hold, and looks down at Jongdae who is flat on his back in his cot. ‘I might be a Sith,’ he says quietly, voice low. ‘But I’m _nothing_ like you.’

Jongdae only blinks, and before he knows it Zitao’s sabre is swinging down in a red arc at his gut, trying to completely bisect him.

He rolls out of the way, watching Zitao slice through his cot, melting the linens and metal supporting the mattress. Zitao turns around, eyes dark and intense as he looks down where Jongdae is kneeling. ‘I should have just - just killed you, back in the temple.’

‘You know you can’t,’ replies Jongdae, still not moving as he cocks his chin upwards, meeting Zitao’s eyes with no semblance of giving in. ‘I’m your _master_ , Zitao. Before, I might have been your Chenchen, but now you’ve chosen me. You’ve chosen to follow your Sith master.’

‘You told me there’s others out there,’ says Zitao flatly. His sabre hums as he turns his wrist, readying another strike. ‘I’ll find another master, ask them to teach me.’

Another swing - wide and with Zitao’s weight behind it - comes down crashing at where Jongdae was kneeling, leaving an ugly melted metal scar behind. Jongdae is now standing, the door of the room to his back. No - he couldn’t leave. He had to keep this damage contained. Get Zitao under control.

‘Then go,’ says Jongdae, stepping to the side to gesture to the door. ‘Leave, Zitao.’

Still, Zitao doesn’t step forward, only keeps watching Jongdae.

His mistake. ‘That’s right.’ Jongdae’s fingers ghost along his belt, lingering on the handle of his sabre, watching Zitao’s eyes track the movement. ‘You can’t leave. Something in you won’t let you. No - instead, you come to me, over and over again.’

‘You forced me to choose you,’ says Zitao, even if the tightening of his expression shows he falls for the bait. ‘If I kill you, I’ll be free.’

That cool, steady anger within Zitao is more familiar to Jongdae than anything else, and he wants to laugh. ‘So this is you when you’re upset - I’ve been told I’m the same way.’

The next strike is quick, but Jongdae parries it with his own lightsaber, basking in the crash and hum of the red energy as they meet and push off each other. Zitao’s anger has an edge of apprehension now, body shifting into a more defensive stance once he sees Jongdae’s lightsabre.

‘This,’ says Jongdae slowly, contemplating his sabre, how short it is in comparison to the other. ‘Does this scare you?’

‘Never underestimate the opponent,’ quips Zitao, an age-old adage from their practice sessions. ‘I’ve never been scared of you, Chenchen.’

‘No, I suppose not.’ Jongdae lets the Force wash over him, telling him about the hum of the ship, the shape of the room, the path of least resistance for the best strike against Zitao. He moves forward - sudden and quick - and Zitao barely deflects the slice, already moving to not get hit by the next, feetwork light and careful so as not to trip while defending against Jongdae’s flurry of attacks.

As expected, it takes only moments for Zitao’s foot to jam against the wall behind him, for him to be pinned against the metal with his sabre humming too close to his throat, pushing against the weight of Jongdae’s own lightsabre keeping him there. ‘You’ve never been scared of me because you know me. That’s it, isn’t it?’

Zitao stares down at him, and slowly his shoulders begin to relax, exhaling slowly, but never going lax on keeping Jongdae’s sabre off his throat. ‘You don’t know.’

He doesn’t expect that. Quickly, Jongdae steps back, disabling his lightsabre so it’s only a handle, ducking the other’s gaze. His tongue is heavy in his mouth, too many words to try out on Zitao, to provoke him, to gain some psychological advantage, but there’s no perfect phrase that comes fast enough - like a part of him _wants_ to be caught, to be exposed.

And Zitao does catch him. He lowers his lightsabre, sheathes it back into the handle. ‘You don’t know why I chose you. That’s why you’re trying so hard to keep me.’

Jongdae gestures to the door, a dare. ‘Then test me. Leave.’

‘A bluff.’ Zitao watches him, his anger beginning to cool. ‘You made me a Sith, but would I be yours?’ He leans back against the wall, sighing. ‘All this time - I’ve wanted the universe, but I never knew what you wanted.’

‘You,’ is the first thing that comes to mind. Jongdae has a flash of regret but pushes it aside; he’d already said it.

‘What else, Chenchen?’ Zitao glances to the door. ‘What do the rest of them want?’

Jongdae latches onto talking about anything that isn’t himself. ‘Yixing is a mechanic, wants to build the best ship in the galaxy. Yifan - he wants to be the best pilot. Luhan’s the chemist, and all he’s ever wanted is - ‘ He breaks for a breathless laugh. ‘He wants to brew the best cup of coffee. And Minseok, he’s the weapons expert. He wants to keep up. If everyone else is going to be best, then he’ll be the best too.’

‘Then all this…’ starts Zitao.

He nods. ‘It’s for you. Your design. Your want. That planet was just a test run to what you _can_ do, and they know it.’

Zitao seems surprised, then frowns. ‘People don’t _belong_ to people.’

‘This crew is Yifan’s, I was recruited for muscle.’ Jongdae’s hand drifts back to his sabre handle. ‘A Sith adrift is still strong.’

‘Then you all split for whatever reason, and you found me,’ says Zitao, voice bitter. ‘Spent some time building me up, only to gather this crew all back and break me down.’

Jongdae looks up at him. ‘Don’t play the victim, Tao - it doesn’t suit you.’

Zitao scowls. ‘It wasn’t _me_ who made all this happen - !’ He tries to step forward, to lord his height over Jongdae, but Jongdae pushes back with the Force, pins Zitao against the metal wall behind him.

‘ _Don’t_ be stubborn either,’ warns Jongdae, feeling flayed open, emotions flaring out, all of him easy for Zitao to see. ‘If you won’t leave, then - just. Shut up.’

Surprisingly, Zitao obeys, keeping still and silent against the wall, expression still scrunched up in a petty anger.

‘You’re not - ‘ starts Jongdae, before taking a deep breath, trying to reign himself in. ‘You’re not mad at me, Zitao.’

Still, Zitao remains stubbornly silent, and Jongdae can even pretend he’s listening.

‘You’re going to have to come to terms with it - that Sehun and a planet aren’t enough. That you are willing to follow someone like…’ Jongdae looks at his own hands - small, coarse, ugly. ‘Someone like _yourself_ , for what you truly want.’ He gestures around him - the wreck of the bed, the open wound along the floor. ‘This is who you are - someone willing to fight, to kill, for that desire.’ Oh. Jongdae snaps his gaze to Zitao, understanding dawning on him. ‘You’re just scared of yourself.’

‘ _Fuck_ you,’ snarls Zitao immediately, struggling against the Force that pins him in place. ‘Fuck you, I hate you, I _hate_ \- I - ’

Jongdae curls his fingers into a fist, forcibly snapping Zitao’s jaw closed, his tirade cut off with a choked off noise. ‘I thought I told you to shut up.’

The effort Zitao throws against the Force is admirable, but ultimately futile. Jongdae only presses more invisible weight onto the other, listening to the Force on how much Zitao can handle, making sure that only those limits are not crossed.

‘There.’ He steps back to admire how Zitao is raised up on his tip toes, shoulders and legs against the metal wall, his spine curving so prettily like the exposed curve of his throat. Zitao’s hair falls into his eyes, showcases all that muted emotion that makes them glitter. ‘Maybe this is where you belong. Until you learn.’

The words have Zitao exhaling loudly through his nose, muscles untensing in a deliberate manner. Jongdae watches as Zitao shifts minutely under the space the Force gives him - makes the arch of his back even more obvious as he brings his shoulders in, brings attention to the sharp arc of his neck and his collarbone, eyes still dark but softer now, calculating now.

Jongdae is almost impressed. His fingers twitch to play. Instead, he lets go of the Force clamping Zitao’s jaw shut, and waits.

First Zitao coughs, clears his throat, wetting his tongue again, before he’s regaining his composure. ‘Maybe Chenchen should teach me,’ he says slowly, an obvious invitation.

This is also a form of power, one that Zitao thinks he can wield over Jongdae, using his experience when Sehun warmed his bed. It’s too much for even Jongdae to refuse. ‘Is that permission, Zitao?’

The warning goes unheard. Zitao nods, smiles, still pinned to that wall, ‘please, Chenchen,’ but now he’s all soft curves, the sensuality that he always had coming to surface for Zitao’s use against someone he can’t physically defeat.

‘This is new.’ Jongdae waves a hand through the air, dismissing the Force entirely, keeping his eyes on Zitao. ‘You’ve never… offered yourself before.’

Zitao steadies himself against the wall once the weight has been lifted. ‘Maybe that’s the reason I stayed,’ he shoots back.

‘For a taste before you leave?’ The Force settles around Jongdae’s shoulders, waiting to be used, to slam down on Zitao’s shoulders and force him to kneel at Jongdae’s feet. It’s tempting, but Jongdae wants to do better. Oh - he wants Zitao to _choose_. ‘What do you want?’

That seems to catch him off-guard. Zitao blinks, like he expected Jongdae to simply take. Then his lips curl up, mischievous and teasing. ‘What does _master_ want?’

Jongdae clenches his jaw, feeling the word trickle heat into his veins. ‘This was your idea.’

‘So you don’t want to fuck me?’ He challenges.

‘I _should_ , shouldn’t I?’ Jongdae starts, stepping forward, making the room’s air feel that much heavier. ‘I should get you on your knees and make you serve me. I should pin you against this wall and fuck you until you can’t think. Until you can’t move, you can’t _breathe_. Until you understand that you’re mine.’

Zitao sucks in a breath, pupils blooming. ‘You never touched me, not even back then.’

‘Did you want me to?’ Jongdae takes another step closer. ‘Did you want me to kiss you, touch you? Hold you all soft and sweet?’ Another step. ‘Or - did you want something else… something you’re scared to ask for. Something like bites, like bruises, like _pain_.’

Up against the wall, Zitao only stares back, refusing to reply, but the tenseness in his frame is all the answer Jongdae needs.

They’re two steps apart now, but it might as well be a chasm, because Jongdae won’t come if Zitao doesn’t ask. That doesn’t mean he can’t encourage. ‘What do you want, Tao? For me to hold your wrists until there’s marks? I can drag my nails down your back until there’s scratches, I can grip your hips so tight the skin will bruise. I can fuck you just as mean as you like - I can make you feel it for _days_.’

There’s trembling in Zitao’s frame - desire and hurt and anger all mixed up in him, making the Force vibrate with the intensity. Jongdae’s attuned enough that he can feel the tremors, knows he’s gotten to Zitao, even if it’s but a taste of what there is to offer.

‘You - you want me to _choose_ ,’ spits out Zitao, harsh, rough.

‘I can give you the softness too,’ murmurs Jongdae, easing back, watching the interplay of emotions that have Zitao’s expression crumpling up. ‘I can tell you every beautiful thing about you - and there are so many. I can spoil you, and adorn you, and admire you.’

‘But - ’ he starts, stops, mouth pressed tightly. ‘But you already _did_ that.’ Then, ‘I _hate_ you, I - I - ’

‘Oh Taozi,’ sighs Jongdae. ‘You _wish_ you could hate me.’

That seems to be the last straw - Zitao lunges forward, hands clawing at Jongdae’s shoulders, and then he’s ducking down, mouth meeting Jongdae’s messily, teeth clicking, hurting. Zitao kisses with desperation, breathing fast as Jongdae opens up and lets him in. Zitao takes the invitation immediately, licking into Jongdae’s mouth, like he’s searching for something, maybe the words that Jongdae uses, hurts him with.

Jongdae grabs Zitao’s biceps, holds fast, and Zitao stills, panting against Jongdae’s lips. This time, Jongdae kisses him, slowing down the pace, tracing the corners of Zitao’s mouth slow, savouring.

Under Jongdae’s grip, Zitao shivers, hums softly, as he tentatively kisses back. His mouth is warm, wet, but careful. Jongdae lets Zitao skim over the surface of what he wants for now, tugging at his bottom lip like a tease until Zitao opens up.

Zitao mewls, melting into Jongdae now, his hands still clawed into Jongdae’s shoulders, but no longer scrabbling for a grip. He pants as Jongdae slips his tongue behind Zitao’s teeth, press against the roof of his mouth. Like this, Zitao makes another noise from the back of his throat, and Jongdae lets go of the other’s arms, his hands skating downwards to palm Zitao’s waist instead.

Jongdae breaks the kiss first, watching as Zitao chases his mouth for a second before he realizes it’s gone. He’s beautiful like this - lashes cast low over dark eyes, pretty curving mouth red and wet. ‘What is it,’ goads Jongdae. ‘What do you want?’

Swallowing, Zitao says, ‘more.’

The hands on his waist tighten, push. Zitao dutifully steps backwards until he’s back against the wall, his own fingers tracing nonsense patterns over Jongdae’s shoulders, like he’s savouring the warmth of the touch.

‘Can I bite you, Zitao?’ Jongdae leans forward a little, mouth skimming along the exposed line of Zitao’s throat. ‘Shall I mark you?’

This close and he can _feel_ the softest tremble slide under Zitao’s skin. ‘Please.’

‘No,’ he says, pulling back. ‘Not until you ask properly.’

Zitao doesn’t even look at him. Instead, he closes his eyes, taking a deep breath. ‘ _Please_ , master.’

Jongdae hums, ‘good.’ He palms Zitao’s neck in one hand to keep him still and steady, leaves a line of kisses on the other side, just to build the anticipation. Halfway down, and Jongdae can’t resist any longer - sinks his teeth into the skin, drags it out so the pain shoots like electricity through Zitao’s vein, has him making a surprised noise.

He pulls away, blows on the reddening skin to cool, and Zitao moans. ‘Master.’

‘One day,’ says Jongdae lowly, ‘I’m going to take my time. Make you lie still as I cover you in bruises. Not just your neck - all of _this_ ,’ his hand presses into Zitao’s chest, drags down to his stomach, ‘and your hips, and your thighs, and your ass. Mark everywhere that I’ve been, that I _own_.’

Zitao mewls, eyes open now and staring at Jongdae, something like a beg just waiting to be dragged out. Not yet - Jongdae wants that for something better. For now, he scrapes his teeth along Zitao’s jaw, peppering kisses all down till he reaches collarbone. Quickly, without even asking, Zitao is scrambling to take off his shirt, exposing an entire country of skin for Jongdae to touch.

And he does, sweeping his fingers over the lean muscle, flicking at the nipples almost experimentally. Zitao twitches, shivers, and Jongdae takes one in his mouth, drags his tongue over the skin. Above, Zitao gasps, hands coming back to hold onto Jongdae’s shoulders. So responsive, thinks Jongdae, and wonders if this is also what made Zitao so sensitive to the Force.

He drags his mouth to the other nipple, bites down, and this time, Zitao moans full-throated and loud. It’s too much not to drag out - and Jongdae takes his time, sucks along the bruised skin, tries to soothe it with his tongue before pressing his teeth into the hurt again. It’s worth it just to feel the trembles that wrack through Zitao’s frame, how he simply _gives in_ to the sensations, his hurt and anger slip-sliding under his sheer _want_.

Smoothing a hand down Zitao’s stomach, he finds the hair leading below the navel, tugs at it just to test. Zitao doesn’t seem to want to stop him, not with the way his hands are clenching and unclenching over Jongdae’s shoulders with each sensation that runs through him. Pulling away, Jongdae looks up at him, waiting.

Zitao peers down blearily, sporting a flush along his cheekbones that makes him look pink and pretty. ‘Master…’

‘Look how easy you are,’ he says, corner of his mouth stretching into a smirk. ‘Can you leave now, Zitao, when you’re this close to begging for me? Pathetic.’ The lust retreats from Zitao’s gaze, has that familiar tide of anger come to replace it. ‘That’s right - this is all it takes to get you, isn’t it? You’ll follow anyone that can fuck you well.’

The provocation sticks. Zitao’s lips curl back in a scowl, baring his teeth. ‘Fuck you.’

Jongdae’s fingers twitch with want to touch Zitao, bring back that sensual softness again, but he has to do this. ‘So _weak_ to your own want.’

There’s a flurry of motion where Zitao goes to hit Jongdae, and Jongdae simply lets him.

He hasn’t been hit in what feels like a lifetime. Not since his master had laid hands on him - always so cruel, but nothing Jongdae hadn’t been trained to take. Zitao’s fist is slow enough that Jongdae could have dodged, but instead he feels the punch collide into his cheekbone and make him stumble back a step.

The next thing is Zitao’s audible gasp of surprise, rearing up against the wall when he sees his knuckles have left a small cut. It’s too shallow to even bleed, but the pain is still acutely sharp around the wound, has Jongdae wincing when he straightens.

‘Chen - Chenchen,’ starts Zitao, both his hands hovering in the air in uncertainty as he worries. ‘ _Master_ , I - ’

Jongdae thumbs at the bruise that he’s sure is forming before looking up at Zitao. ‘That hurt.’

Zitao swallows. ‘I - ’ But he can’t finish, stares helplessly at Jongdae instead.

‘You’re not sorry,’ says Jongdae for him. ‘I deserved it.’ Then: ‘you want to do it again?’

The silence stretches, transforming Zitao’s surprise, softening it to something close to resentment. ‘No.’

‘Some hate you have,’ snorts Jongdae, pressing on the bruise with his fingers until he hisses.

Zitao jerks, a hand closing around Jongdae’s wrist, pulling it away from his face. ‘Don’t do that.’

The touch is warm, fingers softer than Jongdae’s own. No callouses from the Jedi training as a kid, no blisters from years of handling a lightsabre, no scars or pockmarks or badly healed breaks from a life steeped in fighting.

‘I’m not sorry either,’ says Jongdae, sudden enough to have Zitao stiffen. ‘But I won’t hurt you again.’

‘How can I trust you - ’ starts Zitao.

‘You’re here, you already do,’ he cuts in, ‘just admit it.’

But Zitao doesn’t want to - and this is the stalemate. Instead, Zitao tries to push the words behind physicality, like if he kisses Jongdae, Jongdae will forget this ever came up. Maybe he would - because Zitao is so sweet, so gentle, fingers still curled around Jongdae’s wrist and holding it close as he opens his mouth for Jongdae to taste.

Just like before, Jongdae takes - kisses and nips over the skin that Zitao offers up. His collarbone is dotted in pink, his nipples wet and pointed as Jongdae catches his teeth over them, just to hear Zitao gasp.

He’s ready to go down on his knees, nuzzle into the hair that trails from navel till it hides under the waistband of Zitao’s pants, when Zitao catches him around the shoulders, shakes his head. ‘Master,’ he says, soft and breathless, something like a plea.

Jongdae straightens, watching as Zitao undoes the belt, pushes his pants and undershorts down his thighs to show the hardening length of his cock. ‘Please,’ he says, ‘I want - want you - master - to just… use hands.’

‘Didn’t want me to suck your dick?’ Jongdae hums, palming Zitao’s cock, feeling the weight and warmth of it. He thumbs the head, pushing the foreskin back to press against the slit where a bead of precome escapes. ‘Too dry still.’

Zitao shakes his head. ‘Please - just - ’ He leans in, kisses Jongdae again with a barely restrained desperation. Jongdae wonders if this is how Zitao will work through it - that his anger is at himself, that he would always end up here, that he was meant for power - more than he could ever imagine - if he could simply accept it.

So Jongdae indulges him - kisses him and jerks him off, even if it’s too dry and the rasp of skin has Zitao whining. Still, his cock hardens with each stroke, keeping time with Jongdae’s fingers, as Zitao loses the kiss and begins to pant wetly against Jongdae’s lips.

It sounds wonderful - gasps and hitches of breath, Zitao’s little noises from inside his chest like cut-off pleas for more, as he holds onto Jongdae’s shoulders for balance while rolling his hips into the other’s fist.

The precome eventually makes the slide easier - has Jongdae going from root to tip in an easy motion and back again, grip just tight enough to have Zitao trembling with how good it feels. His eyes are half-lidded and glassy now, staring sightlessly at Jongdae, too focused on the pleasure even if it’s nothing but a hand on his dick.

Still, it makes for a pretty sight: Zitao’s open mouth, flush creeping up his lovely skin, lashes casting shadows along his cheekbones. It just makes Jongdae want to ruin him _more_. Still jerking off Zitao’s cock, Jongdae slides his mouth along the other’s cheek, teeth catching along an earlobe for a bite, and almost laughs at the twitch of Zitao’s dick in his hand.

‘I could make this better for you,’ whispers Jongdae. His fingers slide down Zitao’s cock, squeeze the base. ‘Could make you come so hard you forget your own name.’

Zitao moans, nods, mumbles of, ‘yes, yes,’ escaping between the little gasps he makes every time Jongdae jerks his dick just right.

Jongdae pulls back a little, nudges Zitao back so he leans against the wall for balance, hips moving with hasty jerks into Jongdae’s fist, cock and fingers gleaming with precome now. Jongdae’s free hand goes to cup Zitao’s sac, roll the balls along his palm, and Zitao immediately stiffens, then mewls - ‘please, oh _please_ \- ’

Leaning forward, Jongdae can nip at Zitao’s throat, kiss along the skin and sink his teeth until it bruises so bright and mean. All of it seems too much - has Zitao squeezing his eyes shut from the stimulation as he tries to work his dick faster, have Jongdae stroke him off until he comes.

‘It’s this,’ hisses Jongdae against the other’s throat. ‘Your breath. I want to control it, Taozi. I want to use it until you come all over yourself. Let me choke you.’

‘ _Fuck_ ,’ blurts Zitao, knocking his head back against the wall to show off the line of his neck. ‘Chenchen, master, wanna feel good - ’

Jongdae slows down the pace of his hand on Zitao’s cock, drags it out slow and aching so that Zitao shivers and blinks blearily down at him in question. It feels a little embarrassing going on his tip toes to kiss him, but Jongdae supposes there are compromises for everything, and Zitao makes sure to meet him halfway.

He kisses Zitao slow, gentle, still running his hand over the other’s dick with ease. He pulls his other hand away from playing with Zitao’s balls, wraps his arm along his waist instead so that Zitao’s hips bump into his down, his hard cock smearing precome over Jongdae’s pants.

‘Watch me,’ says Jongdae, waiting for Zitao to tip his head down, do as ordered. ‘You’ll squeeze my shoulder twice if you want to stop.’ After a second, Zitao nods, and is rewarded with a smile. ‘Going to make you feel so good, Taozi,’ promises Jongdae, voice sweet and low. ‘I know you trust me, it’s on you to give in.’

Uncertainty flashes across Zitao’s face, but he sucks in a breath and nods. ‘Please, master.’

‘Good,’ he croons, as his hand picks up the pace on Zitao’s cock, stroking him hard and fast. Pressed against Jongdae, Zitao can’t do anything but hold onto Jongdae’s shoulders and shudder at how good it feels to be jerked off so perfectly.

Zitao’s already so close, Jongdae can’t imagine this will last very long, but he brings in the Force anyway, letting it wrap around Zitao’s beautiful throat. There won’t be any marks this way - as dearly as Jongdae wants to leave some - but it lets Jongdae watch, take in every detail as Zitao slowly gives in to himself.

Just as his mouth drops open on a loud moan when Jongdae presses his thumb hard into the slit of Zitao’s cock, the Force tightens around his throat, cutting off his air. The whine that slides out of Zitao’s open lips cuts off, and he’s left soundless, hips still moving along Jongdae’s strokes, the rest of him holding on.

Jongdae counts the seconds, keeps beat with each trembling thrust of Zitao’s cock into his fist, and watches as a flush rises up the other’s collarbone, following the line of his jaw, to his cheeks. Zitao’s body is shaking - small tremors begging for breath - but his cock pulses and spits out precome the longer Jongdae waits.

At the first squeeze of Jongdae’s shoulder, Jongdae pulls off the weight of the Force, watching as Zitao throws his head back and gasps, sputtering for air. Even when trying to catch his breath, Zitao manages desperate pitched mewls as hips don’t lose the beat, don’t stop trying to get off with Jongdae’s hand on his cock, stripping it with his own precome and sweat.

‘M- _aster_ ,’ he coughs, expression pained and desirous all at once, and Jongdae nods.

‘Again,’ he says, before the weight is back around Zitao’s throat. He squeezes the base of the other’s cock, and Zitao shakes, mouth dropped open and eyes staring sightless at the ceiling above. The seconds feel like they move slower this time, for Jongdae to trace over the gleam of sweat on Zitao’s sun-kissed skin, the way all his muscles - lean with training - bunch up and tense, how his hair sticks to his forehead and his mouth is cherry-red and bitten. All of him so _gorgeous_ as he shivers and arches until his body creates a painting of the sweetest agony.

Jongdae moves his fingers up to the cockhead, plays with the crown, his thumbnail tracing along the ridge he can feel under the foreskin. He rubs hard along the sensitive underside of the crown, eyes still on Zitao’s expression, how dark his eyes have gone, lashes half-cast with how much he’s given in.

Finally, Zitao squeezes Jongdae’s shoulder once - and Jongdae digs his nail into the slit of Zitao’s slit for a last delicious bite of pain - before Zitao’s squeezing again and Jongdae lets up the weight around his throat.

Zitao sucks in a lungful before his nails are digging into Jongdae’s shoulders in the tightest grip yet, his body shaking almost violently until finally he’s coming. Jongdae holds onto Zitao’s waist, pumping Zitao’s dick as it spills come thick and warm over Jongdae’s fingers and his clothes.

It takes a while for Zitao to calm down - still shivering as he balances himself between Jongdae and the wall at his back, his chest heaving with breaths as his heart rate comes back down. Jongdae still has an arm around Zitao, holding him up and close, as he smears the come over the other’s stomach, marking him up with gentle sweeps of his fingers.

‘That’s right, you’re good, you’re so good,’ murmurs Jongdae, feeling how the Force thrums around Zitao, reacting to his emotions even if Jongdae can’t tell which ones they are. ‘That’s right, so gorgeous when you gave in to me, so beautiful when you came.’

Zitao hums, wrapping his arms completely around Jongdae’s shoulders and tucking his face into the crook of the other’s neck, letting small shivers slide down his spine as his cock softens, the come and sweat dries on his skin. His ear is next to Jongdae’s mouth, and Jongdae keeps soothing him, patient and careful like Zitao is china glass delicate. ‘You’ve always been good for me, always do so well. Always better than anything I could have ever imagined.’

The compliments eventually stirs something inside of Zitao, and the shakes in his frame grow stronger instead of easing off. Jongdae can’t figure out what it is - not without asking questions, peering at the expressions that flit across Zitao’s face. But Zitao is hidden and mute now, floating somewhere between terror and subspace - and Jongdae needs to bring him down first.

‘You’re mine, Taozi,’ he says softly, ‘and I’m going to take care of you.’

Suddenly, Zitao is pulling away, turning around entirely and leaning on his forearms against the wall, spine arched to pop out his ass towards Jongdae. ‘Master,’ he says, voice wrecked, and Jongdae _hates_ that Zitao simply won’t look at him. ‘Master, you’re hard. Please.’

The offer is tempting. Jongdae skates a hand up the back of Zitao’s thigh, dipping two fingers along the perineum until he reaches Zitao’s asshole, rubbing gently against the rim. Zitao shivers, spreads his feet wider, even if his pants are bunched up at his knees and in the way.

‘I won’t fuck you if you’re crying, Tao,’ says Jongdae, both hands cupping Zitao’s ass and pulling wide. ‘ _And_ not if you’re dry.’

‘I’m not crying, I’m not, just,’ says Zitao quickly, ‘I just - I _need_ \- please, master… let me… ‘ He sucks in a sharp breath. ‘I don’t know _how_ to - to… serve you.’

So that’s what this was. Jongdae lets go of Zitao, stepping back. ‘Turn around.’

Zitao stiffens, stills.

‘Don’t make me repeat myself.’

With another shuddering breath, Zitao turns, shoulders collapsing against the wall, chin tucked close to his collarbone, eyes scanning the dried mess on his stomach and abdomen of the come that Jongdae left there. His hands hang loosely at his sides, and he looks, for all intents and purposes, _lost_.

‘What’s wrong?’ Jongdae asks quietly.

Zitao looks pained, shaking his head. ‘I don’t know - I - you’re so gentle, even _now_ , like nothing has changed since we first met, and it _hasn’t_ , it’s _me_ , I’ve changed, and I don’t know - I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.’

‘Nothing you don’t want to.’

‘If - no, _now_ you’re my master,’ he says, finally peeking up at Jongdae, ‘and I don’t know how to be… be _yours_.’

There are hundreds of ways to answer, and Jongdae thinks he could choke on all of them. Doesn’t know where to begin, how to collapse years of adoration and sincerity into only a phrase, something that would be easy to swallow now that Zitao is broken and rebuilding himself right in front of Jongdae.

The silence stretches too long and Zitao shuts his eyes again, like he’s ready for some sort of punishing blow. A final rejection that all this time he’s not been good enough. Too young, too immature, too _weak_.

No. Jongdae moves forward, hustles Zitao until he’s standing straight against the wall, staring at him wide-eyed. ‘Take off the rest of your clothes,’ he says, unsmiling, eyes dark and boring into Zitao.

Only a few seconds later, Zitao is standing naked, caged in between Jongdae and the wall, still seemingly uncertain, but Jongdae would have that. He brings up his own hand, wetting two of his fingers with saliva. There’s nothing else in this room that could slick Zitao up, and he wasn’t about to leave, when Zitao was barely strung together right now, threatening to unspool into pieces the moment Jongdae looked away.

Zitao doesn’t seem to understand until Jongdae uses his knee to knock Zitao’s thighs apart, hand reaching underneath to find his hole. Zitao gasps at the first contact, palms flat against the wall for balance. Jongdae is slow, but purposeful - slipping one finger almost immediately before the spit dries up.

‘I’m going to stretch you out,’ he says shortly. Zitao is silent, nodding, exhaling slowly as feels his hole worked open. Jongdae is patient, thorough - doesn’t want to hurt Zitao, at least none more than necessary. Sehun - even if they’ve been ignoring him the entire time - is still something that hangs over Zitao, like a premeditated betrayal when Jongdae has once simply looked at Sehun as Zitao’s plaything. But the Force gives and takes - balances out power with loss - and Jongdae knows Zitao is aware, slowly coming to terms with it.

When the saliva is gone, Jongdae spits into his hand again, keeps at it - one finger, now two, careful, careful. The burn makes Zitao hiss, curl, one arm reaching out to curl around Jongdae’s shoulders like he needs the touch to steady himself.

Jongdae is ready to give it, dropping absentminded kisses over Zitao’s chest and collarbone as he pumps his fingers into Zitao’s hole, loosening him up. It takes a while, which isn’t surprising, but in the meantime has Zitao’s cock twitching, getting half-hard, as his hips shift to accommodate the stretch. Zitao makes a noise when he realizes it, tucking his face into Jongdae’s hair, and Jongdae lets him hide.

He doesn’t touch Zitao’s cock, doesn’t give him the friction his hips seek out when Zitao’s not dropping his weight to get Jongdae’s fingers deeper inside. By the time he thinks he’s done, Zitao is panting wetly, his cock hard and flushed, waiting. Still - Zitao does nothing more than hold onto Jongdae. Never thought to jerk himself off, never tried to beg Jongdae to go faster, deeper, more. No, Zitao was wonderfully obeisant, so patient with whatever Jongdae wanted.

‘Just like this,’ says Jongdae, voice low, mouth tracing over the lovely arc of Zitao’s cheekbone. ‘I want you just like this. Up against the wall, so I can fuck you open, fuck you until you come again.’

Zitao swallows and nods, exhaling when Jongdae’s hand draws away from his ass. He leans against the wall and tentatively lifts up his leg, hooking it around Jongdae’s waist. Suddenly, his hands are scrabbling at Jongdae’s waistband, trying to undo it as fast as possible, like he’s trying to make up for a mistake before Jongdae punishes him for it.

‘Easy, easy,’ reassures Jongdae, catching Zitao’s wrists in his hands and bringing them up to hook over his shoulders. ‘Just hold on and keep your balance.’

It doesn’t take long for him to push the waistband down and pull out his cock, slicking it with spit. One hand goes underneath Zitao’s thigh, the other guides his dick to the other’s ass, crown catching along the rim and popping off. Zitao hisses, tries to ride down, but a quick squeeze of his thigh has him going still again.

The second try is better - Jongdae can’t help but groan as he feels himself push into Zitao’s ass. Zitao himself takes it with a whine, lashes fluttering as he’s stretched out, the burn making him shiver and hold onto Jongdae that much tighter.

‘Master,’ he blurts, voice breaking, once Jongdae’s in, one hand holding up a thigh, the other pressing bruises into Zitao’s hip. ‘Please.’

‘You want to be good for me, don’t you?’ Jongdae asks, slowly starting to thrust into Zitao, feel how Zitao takes him with little fucked-out gasps. ‘Just like this?’

He can feel Zitao nod against his hair. ‘W-What - What do I _do_?’

‘Tao,’ he says, picking up the pace, driving the burn through Zitao’s frame, making him shake. ‘Tao - ’

Again, the words flood into his throat, trying to drown him, and Jongdae only presses his fingers harder into Zitao’s skin, bruise him right up with the memory of what they’re doing. Zitao mewls - moving his hips in awkward jerks to ride down on Jongdae’s dick, trying to go faster.

‘Please, _please_ ,’ he sobs, and while he’s not crying yet, Jongdae thinks he will break soon, and he won’t - he won’t let Zitao get lost in his own head like this.

So he fucks him into the wall. Holds tight to Zitao and angles his hips, drives his cock inside that warmth, letting his thighs slap against Zitao’s ass to complement how Zitao moans out. He doesn’t know if he’s got the right spot until half a dozen thrusts later, Zitao tightens up, ‘ _fuck_ \- oh - _please_ \- ’ and tries to buck down onto Jongdae’s dick again so he can feel that bolt of pleasure.

It’s so easy to get caught up in Zitao - who is gorgeous and falling apart, his own cock slapping against his stomach as Jongdae screws into him deep and hard. He’s leaking and wet and still a mess from earlier, but Jongdae doesn’t think he could ever imagine Zitao any better than this: _gone_ to sensation, open and vulnerable all for Jongdae in a way that he’ll never be with anyone else.

He _has_ Zitao in this moment - more than any other’s. Right _here_ with his dick fucking into Zitao’s prostate over and over, getting Zitao’s cock spit out precome and keening, a wordless beg to keep going until he comes all over himself.

‘Perfect,’ says Jongdae, meaning it, and Zitao pulls his head back in a jerk, staring at him with wide, dark eyes. ‘ _Perfect_ ,’ he repeats, drives the word into Zitao with each sharp jerk of his hips. ‘There is nothing, Tao - _nothing_ that you can do - fuck, you’re _per-fect_.’

Zitao’s mouth drops open in a soundless moan as the thrusts pick up speed and strength, his nails digging into Jongdae’s shoulderblades so hard he’ll leave marks. Desperate but unwilling to hide now, Zitao presses his forehead against Jongdae’s, his hips moving in time with each hard fuck, one thrust, two, one two, per-fect, per-fect, _perfect, perfect_ -

When Zitao cries, it’s nothing beautiful, but Jongdae watches anyway. The scrunch of his eyes, how his mouth grimaces in pain, even when each sob is interrupted with a moan. He holds onto Jongdae, takes Jongdae’s cock in him even when each thrust hits him _right there_ and makes him tighten with how good it feels.

‘Right from the beginning,’ says Jongdae, means it with a ferocity that tightens his ribcage, ‘you’ve always been so much, so good, all for me, _mine_ and _perfect_.’

Zitao wails out, riding out the waves of pleasure that Jongdae is intent on making him feel, fucking him like he deserves to be fucked - hard and good and without relent, so that Zitao would feel this for days, remember these precious seconds where he gave all that he had to give.

‘Now,’ snarls Jongdae, ‘you’re gonna come, understand? Come while I fuck you, while you know what you are.’

‘Yours,’ gasps Zitao, staring at him through teary lashes as he keeps trying to fuck himself open over Jongdae’s cock. ‘Yours, already, always, yours - ’

That’s how it ends - Jongdae still holding onto Zitao, driving into Zitao’s ass as he feels the telltale flutters that go through Zitao’s frame that prelude his orgasm. Zitao’s ‘master, master, master’ sounds like a prayer, holding him up for the final few moments, before he finally comes untouched and his voice breaks into a helpless whine.

Jongdae ducks and latches his teeth into Zitao’s collarbone to muffle his groan as he feels Zitao’s ass milk his dick so tight and good. He doesn’t want to come just yet, not until he’s thoroughly fucked the orgasm out of Zitao. It takes a few more hard thrusts and Zitao stops shaking, starts getting relaxed - that fatigue of sex and crying flooding into his frame.

Like this, Zitao’s body is just to be used. He gives up, gives in, mewling, ‘master, _please_ , master, yours, ‘m yours, master,’ as Jongdae keeps rolling his hips up into Zitao’s warm, tight ass. Unlatching his teeth from Zitao’s skin, Jongdae looks up, watches how Zitao bites his lip to muffle any noises of discomfort as he keeps taking each thrust for Jongdae’s pleasure.

The effort of it has heat rushing down Jongdae’s spine - Zitao is so utterly _perfect_ , in his wants, in his desperation, in his stubbornness - and he can’t help but want to keep it close to him, control it and _own_ it.

He fucks Zitao until he comes - quickly after all that. Floods his ass with come, makes sure Zitao can _feel_ it inside of him, doesn’t want to pull away as he uses his softening cock to plug Zitao up. Zitao shivers, breathing hard, and tightens his ass, making a small noise. ‘ _Ah_ \- master.’

Slowly, Jongdae pulls out and lets Zitao’s thigh go, holding his waist to make sure he stands upright without falling over. Zitao only drags Jongdae closer, holding him tight. The mess of sweat and come feels easy to ignore when Zitao curls himself so small into Jongdae like this, rebuilt but still so delicate, like too hard of a hold will have him shatter all over again.

Jongdae stays, fingers tracing nonsensical patterns into the skin of Zitao’s back, and doesn’t wince when Zitao starts crying again. This one isn’t full of relief from before; instead, Zitao mourns, proper and final for what he’s left behind.

There isn’t much left now - Jongdae holds Zitao up and simply listens.

-

‘What do you want?’ Zitao asks, looking bedraggled as he peeks out from the blanket of his cot. Even though it’s a tight fit, he had asked for Jongdae to lie down as well, and now Jongdae finds himself staring up at the room’s ceiling while Zitao curls around him, sleep-warm and soft.

‘I don’t know,’ answers Jongdae, the truth scraping sharp nails along the inside of his throat. ‘My master - he called me someone with empty ambition.’ He holds his arm up, hand enveloping half the ceiling in his palm, curling his fingers around the air, grasping nothing.

‘You could have anything,’ mumbles Zitao, almost a scold. ‘ _Everything_.’

‘That’s why I wanted you.’ His arm falls back onto the cot with a thump as he looks over at Zitao. ‘You want everything and I will give it to you. Fame, power, control.’

Zitao meets his gaze, eyes no longer angry - no, they’re soft, pretty. ‘I think I know.’

‘Do tell,’ humours Jongdae.

‘You want something better than all three,’ he says, serious and certain.

‘What’s better?’

Zitao touches one of the marks on his collarbone. ‘To be known.’

-

A thousand years from now, his master will be forgotten in the annals of history. No more will anyone whisper of his presence, his exploits, all that he was when he was at the peak of his power in the outskirts of some galaxy, before vanishing.

Instead, there will be other stories - of war, death, murder, and him. Him and his ruthlessness that could never be truly explained, a cold cruelty that brought many to their knees, a brutality that would never be emulated in more civilized times.

He will give Zitao galaxies and star systems, create a circlet from the remnants of a star and place it upon his head, let him rise to all that he is worth, all that he deserves. And Zitao will gleam and glitter and have fame, power, control, as he rewrites an ordained future for the universe, brings it under his command.

And Zitao - Zitao will gift him with something more precious than Jongdae has ever known. _Immortality_ \- within poem and song and story, to be spread through space and pile upon each other, rumour and myth and story becoming pseudo-truth to follow Jongdae into history.

As their ship sails through the black of space, these are the promises Jongdae exchanges with Zitao, feeling something spark in his chest. ‘You’ll have to kill me one day,’ he says, sounding eager to himself, ‘as a Sith.’

Zitao laughs a little. ‘We still have everything to do before that moment.’

‘Still,’ he insists. ‘You’ll kill me.’

‘You’d let me,’ replies Zitao simply. ‘After it’s all done.’

Jongdae can’t help but smile. ‘The perfect end.’

-

**Author's Note:**

> this was written in many different headspaces, so I hope that if you read it, you enjoyed it!!


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